


Three Dog Nights

by Bedtime (RestAssured)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M, Smut, Spander - Freeform, anya left, lessons fic, skuzzy's old fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2751707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RestAssured/pseuds/Bedtime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike catches Xander reading a book on seducing non-mortals, and offers three nights of hands-on "lessons" in the subject-- which is just wonderful, since the non-mortal Xander had been hoping to seduce was Spike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I've Never Been To Spain

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting some of my old works from LJ to AO3, because I miss them and they deserve to be here.
> 
> All are complete. Any incomplete ones will be completed before posting. I do not own the music of Three Dog Night, nor do I own these characters or the setting of this story.

_Well, I never been to Spain,_

_But I kinda like the music._

_They say the ladies are insane there,_

_And they sure know how to use it._

_They don’t abuse it. Never gonna lose it._

_I can’t refuse it._

_\--_

_If there is one thing male creatures crave, particularly immortal ones, it is variety. An immortal creature often finds itself without intriguing ways to pass the time, as they have no doubt experienced most of them already. So in order to attract the oldest, darkest creatures, it is actually quite unnecessary to be what most mortal eyes would call “physically attractive”. Being “different” or “strange” can be a great advantage when attempting to attract the supernatural. If you are already on familiar terms with your dark creature, it may be wise to surprise him, to attempt to pique his curiosity. After all, much like mortal men, supernaturally endowed male creatures are driven by fascination. However, a word of caution: When fascinated, dark creatures do not stop until their curiosity is satisfied. Do not begin your seduction until you are prepared to be seduced yourself._

 

“Well, hello, little Scoobie.”

“ _Jesus!_ ”

Gasping in alarm, the oh-so-observant Xander Harris slammed his book shut, nearly jumping out of his skin as he felt a tug at the back of his hoodie—his red Spiderman hoodie—and knew immediately that he was screwed. Not just a little screwed, oh no. No, no, no. Because when Xander Harris gets screwed, he gets screwed royally. It’s his role in life.

“Let’s see now… Xander Harris with his nose in a book. What’s wrong with this picture?”

 _Oh, so many things…_ He sucked in a breath and tried to slow his heartbeat, hoping that some of that apparently innate coolness he’d used to bluff down the likes of Angel and Jack O’Toole would kick in and get him out of this one. “Well, ya see… Research. Never stops.” Gracelessly dropping a hand to his carefully disguised volume, praying that the object of his horror would continue to concentrate on the fact that he was reading at all, and forget about checking out exactly _what_ he was reading.

See, the problem with this situation resided within that book. He could’ve gotten away with sneaking into G-man’s super-secret book stash at the back of the Magic Box. He’d been back there before, building shelves and gathering research stuff and so forth. Even this late he could get away with researching, since everyone was on Sunnydale meltdown, preparing for this week’s big nasty—which was definitely big and nasty, according to every account. But being caught here, this late, with _this particular book_ , no matter _how_ awesomely concealed its cover was (and he’d concealed it pretty awesomely, if he did say so himself), was the dumbest move he’d made in a long time.

Because, horror of horrors, the object of his late night ‘research’ was peering over his shoulder at this very moment.

“Didn’t know they were bindin’ _X-Men_ comics in eighteenth cent’ry leather now.” Spike sneered, reaching around him to pull the comic book cover he’d taped to the binding away. _Okay, so the awesome concealment strategy has failed. Fuck me._ “Rupert won’t be happy f’ye damage his books, whelp.”

“What’re you, the library police?”

“ _Zevera Seducris_.” The bleach-blonde menace let the title roll from his tongue, dirty-sweet, like he was about to buy the book a drink or something. Xander couldn’t suppress a shudder. _Damn…_ “Well, well. Haven’t seen this useless piece of crap in a while. Plannin’ on seducin’ somethin’ with teeth, boy?”

 _Fangs, actually._ “I—”

“Shoulda known. All the demon tail chasin’ you, an’ now the bint’s gone back to vengeancin’. A man gets used to what gets him off, yeah?”

“Oh My God, Spike—” Slapping a hand to his forehead, he breathed out a slow sigh, hoping and praying something hellmouthy would happen before Spike could notice--

“Ye realize ye grabbed the wrong volume, right?” Flipping it open, the vampire held it in an almost scholarly way, reminiscent of Giles in one of his research frenzies, one hand behind his back, the other propping the book up to his chest at a reading angle. “ _Zevera Seducris_ is for males. _Precia Seducris_ is for females.”

His head snapped up at that, and immediately his mind went into red alert. “I-I-Um-!” There was a simple answer, wasn’t there? Oh, right. “No, I- I didn’t!”

 Quirking one eyebrow, the damnable vamp snapped the book shut and held up the front cover. The front cover, which was embossed in gold with a giant, engorged, erect—

“Oh.” He stared at it, mouth opening and closing, mind spinning in circles as he tried to formulate his reply. Okay. When all else fails, deny. “Yeah, I was about to put it back. To get the other one, I mean.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.” He straightened, chest pressing into the reading table as the fangless, souled, but no doubt still evil vampire leaned into his personal space bubble with that oh-so-knowing look in his eye. “Yeah, you came in right as I was about to—”

“Been standin’ here for over an hour, watchin’ you mutter to yerself.”

“Oh.”

_… And now, ladies and gentlemen, my dazzling imitation of a sitting duck._

At least Spike looked amused, which was better than disgusted. He flipped the book open again, apparently picking a page and paragraph at random, and reciting: “ _Creatures of a more malevolent nature are given to fits of obsession, often focusing most of the attention they do not reserve for survival on a very specific goal. Once that goal is reached, they will move to another goal, usually related, but sometimes not. Goals are essential for the life of an immortal creature, as they serve to give purpose for their existence._ ” He shut the book, tossing it to the table on its back. “Complete and utter tripe.”

“Says the guy who went all suicidal when he found out he couldn’t kick ass anymore.”

“Kicking arse is not a goal. It’s a lifestyle.” With a smirk, the vampire rested his arms on the back of Xander’s chair, angling his chin so that he was too close—close enough to whisper in his ear. “So, who’s yer bloke?”

“I—Um—Wait, What?”

“Yer bloke.” Spike drawled, accent pulling the word out until its letters stretched soft and easy. “Th’one you’re plannin’ on seducing. Thinkin’ about gettin’ a little dangerous, yeah? So, who with?”

 _Oh God—_ His brain when blank, Spike’s closeness making it impossible to _breathe_ , let alone think. Because if Spike didn’t realize that _he_ was the only one Xander had ever wanted to “get a little dangerous” with, then he must be as thick as he was hot. And everybody knew that Spike couldn’t be that thick.

It had all begun six months ago, when Anya left him. Some asshole had rolled into town in a Mercedes, flashed his gold card at her, and she was gone the next day. He hadn’t wanted to be coddled that night, so he’d skipped telling the girls. But Spike, who’d been living with him at the time, had to be informed when he’d woke him midday putting his fist through a wall. He’d stared at him blearily as he’d explained, and instead of offering his usual Xan-Mocking, he’d stayed silent for the rest of the day—A remarkable act of benevolence, considering the prime mocking material at hand. Then he’d taken him to Willy’s and let him drink himself stupid, also oddly benevolent, considering. And as he’d sat there, getting stupid, thinking about all the women who’d done him wrong, Spike sat next to him, being chatted up by some…

… Guy?

It took him like twenty minutes to reconcile the thought in his _head_ , let alone understand that Spike was definitely not saying no. He was flirting back in that particular badass way of his, wicked smirk on his lips, hands on the bar as the guy touched him, little touches, all over. Hell, dude was practically in his lap before Spike called it off, resting a hand on Xander’s shoulder.

“M’here with my mate. Sorry, pet. Next time?”

Fuck, _that_ took his mind off Anya. No question.

Soon he was sulking at that bar, thinking of men. The men at Oxnard who’d practically drooled over him, made passes at him more times than he could count, whispering in his ear that if he was ever curious, he knew where the fun was. The men at the construction site, their macho posturing, the way they slapped has ass as a show of pride. Larry, who’d made most of high school a living hell for him, then begged for a chance to be with him on the night before his death. Jesse… His best friend and first love, who’d never went beyond chaste kisses with him before he was turned into a monster…

Wow. That’s a lot of gayness in his life.

So as they were walking home together (well, Spike was walking, Xander was stumbling), he’d drunkenly blurted “Since when do you mack on dudes?”

Spike gave him a wary look, slinging an arm around his shoulders to keep him standing. “Since b’fore yer mum was outta nappies. Problem?”

“Ch’yeah, no. Most definitely not. There is too much gayness in my life for me not to be cool with that.”

Spike snorted. “Yer lucky I give a shitte about you at all, or I would’ve been out the door with Charlie, an’ you would’ve been left with that Prokka who’d been eyein’ your arse all night.”

“Yeah, thanks for not… you know, leaving me to horny Prokkas.” He’d said, letting Spike drag him home after that.

The months that followed included eighteen more trips to Willy’s, some of which ended badly, but most of which ended really, really well. He’d made… well, buddies, for lack of a better term, with some of the guys from Spike’s weekly poker game. And he’d even made some trips on his own (something Spike had expressly forbidden), where he’d met new friends and gathered a mega-ton of info for Buffy. He’d only been hit on three times, only when he came alone. Later, he found out that Spike had been glaring off potential suitors.

… He actually found that… kind of sweet.

See, by then, his curiosity had grown into an incessant wondering, one that made it nearly impossible to think of anything else. And it had gone from “What would it be like with a guy?” to “What would it be like with a demon?” to “What would it be like with Spike?” pretty fast.

Thing was, Spike hadn’t shown even the tiniest bit of acknowledgment that Xander was part of the human race, let alone a semi-attractive man with bedroom potential.

Thus, desperate measures. The book with the giant dick on the cover. _Zevera Seducris,_ the ancient art of humans seducing demons.

“I- No.” He sighed, resigned to his fate of being forever mocked. “No, you are _not_ making me tell you who.”

“So there _is_ a bloke?” Spike murmured, sweet as sugar, even as his voice grew harsh with the want to growl.

 _God, fuck me._ He let his head fall to the table, wishing the hellmouth would open and swallow him right now. “ _Yes_ , fine, there’s a guy, okay?! Now go _away_. I’m having a moment of desperation here, and you’re killing the mood.”

Face to the table (so he couldn’t see the fucking vampire’s oh-so-evil smirk), he said a silent prayer that maybe his clearly pathetic state would be enough to make Spike leave him be. God, he was a fucking _idiot_. An unbelievable _idiot_ with the most unbelievably bad luck _ever_.Somebody should just shoot him and put him out of his misery.

“Ye know, this book is complete rubbish.” Spike murmured, striding around the table and leaning over the volume, black fingernails tracing the obscene picture on the cover. “F’ye wanted to know how to seduce a demon, should’a just asked me, mate.”

Picking his head up, he narrowed his eyes, glaring at Spike warily. “You’d seriously tell me how to seduce a demon? Out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Not tell. Teach.” Spike smirked back, hand leaning on the book as he pushed into his face. “And there’s no goodness in my heart, Harris. This would be mutually beneficial. I’d get my own in the end, wouldn’t I?”

Eyes widening, Xander sat back to stare at him, breath completely leaving his lungs at the very thought, because _Oh My God, Is He Offering What I **Think** He’s Offering--?_ “You—” He swallowed, because Spike was so close, and his eyes were so blue, and _Christ_ he was hot with that ‘let’s make mischief’ smirk on his lips. “You’re—Let me get this straight. You’re offering to teach me how to score with a demon, and in exchange, you want to score with me?”

A small scoffing laugh escaped Spike’s lips, and he pulled back a little, smirk widening to a full-on grin. And fuck, he had a hot grin, didn’t he? “Nine Hells _,_ Harris, what did you think was gonna happen? Sex is the natural conclusion to all lessons in seduction, that’s rule number one. I can’t teach ye how to seduce someone without showin’ ye the proper mechanics. Ye ever been with a bloke?” He waited, eyes suddenly focused intensely on his face. Xander slowly shook his head, astounded. “No? Then ye’ll have to learn, right? That way, once you nab yer man, you’ll know what to do with him. Whoever he is.” He added, a slightly cold look in his eyes affecting nothing but complete ambivalence to that little detail.

Xander sat back in his chair, utterly speechless.

_What. The Fuck. Is Happening Right Now?_

_He’s- He’s- He’s-!_

_He’s offering me Sex-Ed? Like, very hands-on Demon Sex-Ed?!_

“Oh, C’mon, Harris. Ye’ve been readin’ this tripe for an hour, don’t get bashful now.” Dropping into the chair across from him, the vampire offered him a wicked grin. “Look, three days, no strings, alright? Three days of lessons, and I guarantee you’ll have yer man, an’ I’ll never speak of it again. Good enough for you?”

“The thing is- I mean… why?” Xander asked, mind still processing his incredible good fortune. Never, ever, _ever_ in a million _years_ had he thought that Spike would be offering him sex on a silver platter. This was like… Like winning the sex lottery.

“’Cause I’m bored.” He drawled, running his black nails through his bleach-blonde hair with a nonchalant shrug. As if to say, _Do I need a better reason?_

 _Three days…_ Xander’s mind sighed, and he pressed his lips together, reaching his decision almost immediately.

Who was he kidding? Three days was better than nothing at all.

“Okay. Um…” He nodded his assent, reaching over, not sure how to seal this deal. Maybe a handshake. Was that awkward? “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Spike stared down at his hand for a moment, amused. Then took it, clasping it in his own and leaning forward to press his lips to Xander’s, soft and easy, a whisper of a kiss that was gone before his brain ever processed it.

_Oh My God, Spike just kissed me._

“Meet you at yours in an hour.”

And with that, he was gone. And so was the book, actually. He’d taken it with him.

Xander just sat there, nodding like a bobblehead doll, fighting the grin that would emerge anyway.

_Spike Just Kissed Me._

\--

Spike, for his part, had to wonder if the boy was stupid, in love, or both.

Not that he cared. Not really. It’s just…

… He’d never seen him look so pathetic. So desperate. And he’d thought he’d seen the boy at his worst.

Well, he supposed you had to be desperate to agree to something like what Xander had just agreed to. Three nights of sex with the (albeit very handsome) vampire you once despised. No strings, except for that one little thing… you had to give as good as you got. And Xander Harris was the type to care about who he was getting off, so either he’d suddenly decided that he wouldn’t mind putting out for the evil undead, or…Whoever this bloke was, he had him in knots. Which should be hilarious to watch, except the thought of it was making Spike tetchy. In fact, all he could think was that it was his own fault, bringing the boy to Willy’s so often. Of course he was going to run into something with charm, or at least a magically aided skill for seduction. He was going to have to find out who it was. Last thing Harris needed was another ill-fated love affair. He’d already had quite enough of those in his short-but-storied life—Anya was supposed to be the last. But now that he was batting for both teams…

… And since when did he like men, anyway? He’d known the boy for a while now, crashed in his apartment, and if he’d had any interest in the male form, Spike would’ve noticed, right? Smelled it on him. Caught a few little glances his way.

Of course, these cues all relied on Xander being attracted to _him_. But being the sex-on-legs vamp he was, that was never a question. If it liked dick, it liked Spike. His appeal was versatile that way.

 _Maybe it’s just the one…_ He reassured himself, pushing into the drug store nearest to Harris’ flat. _Some demon with charm probably blew pheromones his way, turned his head. Either way, one night and he’ll know for sure._

And there was the honest truth. Spike was prepared to show him exactly what he was in for, should he give himself up to a male demon. He’d bet good money that his oh-so-hetero Harris would balk at the thought of being on the receiving end. Not that he wouldn’t make it fantastic. Just… He couldn’t picture Droopy Harris arse up and gagging for it, that’s all. As much as he’d love to see it—for, no doubt, it would be a very pretty sight—there was no way Xander was going to go through with it.

Which was why Spike was doing this. Safer to help him come to his senses with him than in some demon’s bed.

 _Hell_ , that thought was bothering him. Who could it be? He’d made it quite clear at Willy’s that Xander was under his protection. Everyone knew that the idiot was _his_ idiot, for lack of a better term, and that meant nothing touched him unless Spike allowed it. Whoever it was, obviously they had attracted the boy’s attention long enough to warrant his desperation. And that meant, whatever it was, it was making time with him at Willy’s.

Fine. Xander was desperate. He was… He really, really wanted this bloke.

And Spike… Spike hadn’t been laid in a good month, and he didn’t mind the looks of Xander (as long as he kept his infernal mouth shut). So it really was a win-win. As long as the poor kid didn’t get all attached to him.

 _Right, me and Harris._ He thought with a snicker as he expertly lifted lube and condoms from the drug store. _Because this is his way of tellin’ me he loves me._

The snicker turned into a bout of uncontrollable laughter, and he had to prop himself up on the nearest wall to get himself together, before heading down the street to find beer.

_\--_

_Well, I never been to England,_

_But I kinda like the Beatles._

_Well, I headed for Las Vegas,_

_Only made it out to Needles._

_Well can you feel it? It must be real, it_

_Feels so good. Oh, it feels so good._

\--

The hour came and passed, and Xander found himself stretching out on his couch, radio sliding classic rock through his ears, wondering if he’d dreamed the entire encounter. He’d ordered Chinese food—not really certain what Spike wanted, so he just ordered a selection of his own favorites—and now it was perched on his counter, untouched.

God, he was so stupid.

Did he really think Spike would show up? This is textbook evil. Fuck, he should’ve known he’d wind up alone and waiting. Tomorrow Spike would probably show up for patrol, take one look at his baggy eyes, and say “Late night last night, brainless?” with one of those stupid gorgeous smirks…

A loud rapping at the door jolted him from near slumber, and he sat up quick, pushing his hair from his eyes as he headed to answer it. He peeked through the peephole first, and sure enough, the bleach-blonde menace he’d been waiting for was glaring back at him. It was funny how Spike could affect that perfect sneer of disgust without even meeting his eyes. He had a feeling it was one of those things Deadboy taught him.

Then that sneer turned into a soft growl. “I can hear you at the door, Nitwit. Gonna chicken out, or let me in?”

His blood grew hot. _Right. Vampire._ The deadbolt came undone, and the locks twisted free, and within seconds he was face to face with the evil-recently-souled-thing that had been torturing his libido for a solid six months. And probably longer.

He was so screwed.

“I- um.” He looked to the floor, licking his lips because they were suddenly dry. “I got Chinese food.”

“That’s nice, Harris.” He said, in that faux-sweet tone that meant he was about to say something condescending. “Now, what’s a vampire need to get into your apartment?”

“… An invitation?” He answered dumbly, then realized, yes, he was right. “Oh, shit, right, um—Come-”

“Wait,” Spike stopped him, holding a hand up against what Xander assumed was the invisible barrier keeping him out. “first lesson: Seduction begins on sight. You just wasted a minute shuffling around like an idiot. Now start over, and invite me in like you want me.”

“Invite you in like—” A soft, scoffing laugh dribbled from his lips, and he scrubbed a hand down his face, trying to wipe the flush in his cheeks away. _Christ_. “Oh God.” He tried to keep the strain from his voice. “How? How the fuck do I even _do_ that?”

The look in Spike’s eyes was almost worth his embarrassment. Propping himself up by the shoulder, he loomed in Xander’s doorway with a soft, almost sweet smirk on his lips and a glint in his gaze that was so perfectly blue that he didn’t know if any other blue could match it. He stopped breathing for a second—just a second—helpless to it.

“Well, you can start by _actually_ wantin’ me.” He drawled, accent lilting softly over each word, skipping letters here and there, drawing some out to drown others. Sexy as hell, that accent. “But if that’s too difficult, ye can always pretend.”

 _Oh, yeah, pretend. That’s gonna be hard._ He finds himself biting his lip to keep from laughing, because this was possibly the most ridiculous situation he’s ever been in, Sunnydale be damned. Closing his eyes for a second, he took a slow, deep breath and let it out, head reeling with the thought of what he should say or do. What Spike wanted to hear. _Okay…_

Straightening his spine, he leaned in the doorway and let himself reach with every cell of his skin, every fiber, every nerve, until every platelet in his blood was tilting in Spike’s direction. His tongue darted out to swipe over his lower lip, quick, barely there, and he bend his head forward, peering through his lashes in what he hoped was an enticing manner. All those pretty images, those fantasies that had kept him up at night, those thoughts that had made the deal he’d agreed to sound so enticing… All of them played behind his eyes, and he prayed to whatever was listening that they wouldn’t show. Or, if they did, that they’d show as a leak and not a flood.

He resisted the urge to clear his throat, letting his voice come rough and soft—like denim—the way Spike’s sounded between cigarette puffs. “Come in, Spike.”

Instantly the vampire’s eyes went dark as blue sin and his lips curled into a devilish smirk. For a minute he was worried he’d start laughing. But instead he reached up, two black self-manicured fingernails brushing the brown wisps of hair from Xander’s eyes and tracing deliberately slow lines down his cheekbone. Then he stepped through the threshold and leaned up to press a kiss to Xander’s mouth that left him too shocked to breathe, let alone respond in kind.

 _Okay. That’s two._ His mind confirmed as he felt Spike step away. _You aren’t dreaming._

As Xander was attempting to assign reality to all of this, Spike was watching his face with an expression that could only be described as triumphant. Triumphant and a little… wild. “Good boy.” He murmured, eyes wandering from Xander’s mouth to his gaze. “Now pick yer jaw up off the floor an’ lock up.”

With that, he let his fingers trail down Xander’s arm and turned on his heel toward his bedroom, stripping as he went. The boots came off first, kicked into the bathroom. Then the duster, then the shirt, then the jeans.

He looked so good naked that Xander’s brain went offline for a good minute and a half before he remembered to shut the door.

 _Jesus Christ._ He leaned in the doorway, locking the deadbolt and pressing his head against the wood. _Jesus Christ, this is seriously going to happen._

Then he pushed off the doorframe and looked down at the six-pack Spike had left on the floor. Except the six-pack wasn’t the only thing in the bag.

On top of the six-pack was a box of Trojans. And on top of that, a tube of KY.

He picked up the bag and carried it to the bedroom, where he found the ghost of all his fantasies looming pale and unabashedly nude by the window. _Christ._ Taken aback, Xander froze in his doorway, not quite sure he could speak right now without sounding like—well, some guy who wanted the hell out of the naked guy in front of him. So he didn’t speak. He just stared at the lithe, milk-white form, trying to remember the name of the statue an art teacher of his once called “the perfect specimen of man”. Because Spike had to be its undead incarnate.

A smirk twisted at the corner of Spike’s lips, and he strode toward him slowly, undulating his hips with every step to show off the fact that, yes, he was compact and muscular and well-hung to boot. And when he reached Xander, he took the bag from his hand and pulled the condoms and lube out to set them on the edge of the bed. “Thirsty?”

“Fuck yes.”He heard himself groan as the vampire pulled a can loose from his six-pack. Reaching for it, he managed to just touch the sweating metal before it was yanked from his grasp and set on top of his dresser.

Spike stood in front of it, getting into his face, the focused blue of his eyes making him dizzy without the aid of liquid courage. “Tough. You’re doin’ this sober. Ye can have a beer after.”

“Oh _C’mon_.” He didn’t mean to sound so harsh. But seriously. “Now you’re just taunting me.”

And maybe he shouldn’t’ve said it like that. Maybe he should’ve chosen his words with a little more care. Because the way Spike was smirking at him, it was like the cat who’d caught his eighty-sixth canary. “Think of it as a prize. If ye can make it through this without balkin’, it’s yours.”

Raising his eyebrows at that, Xander backed away from the beer and let his hands fall to his sides. “Fair enough.” He murmured, eyes sliding nice and easy over Spike, the way they’d always wanted to. God, Fuck, Hell. The man should be in magazines. It’s like he was cut from marble, except for that nearly translucent blonde trail of hair from his navel to his pelvic bone, curling and matting around a cock that was both unnaturally pale and unusually uncircumcised. Biting down on his lower lip, he dragged his gaze back up to Spike’s. “Though, for the record, balking is not my style.”

“Right. Charge in ‘fore ye can lose yer nerve. That’s you all over.” The vampire eyed his mouth, and for a minute he wondered why he was staring. Then he realized and let go of his lower lip, lapping over it to will away the marks his teeth had undoubtedly left. “Just…” He trailed off for a moment, ice-white fingers reaching up to touch his (God, embarrassing) yellow Hawaiian print button-down, black nails thumbing over the edge of his lapel. They grasped it by the wings of his collar, tentatively pulling it away from his skin. “Ye sure you wanna do this?”

_Am I?_

He almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of the question, not because it was absurd, but because it actually needed to be asked. Spike actually needed to know.

Like Xander hadn’t been dying for a chance at this very moment for six months. Like he hadn’t been wasting away, pining, building his every thought around the bleach-blonde vampire that was currently touching him with such deliberate affection he almost swore this was a dream.

But instead of wasting time with laughter, he set himself rigid, allowing Spike to push the shirt from his shoulders. “Yes.” He muttered, instead of the _Hell Yes_ that was standing on the tip of his tongue. The _Hell_ might come off a little eager.

“ _Harris_ ,” Spike was glaring now. Almost like he was trying to get him to call this off. “This is _going_ to _hurt_. This is the time to back out.”

“I know it’s gonna hurt, Spike. I’m not stupid.”

“Ye’ve never _been_ with a bloke before, Xander, ye don’t _know_ —”

“Yeah, well, I’ve never been to Spain.” He glared back, annoyed with Spike and himself. But mostly Spike. _Dammit, if you don’t wanna do this, why don’t **you** back out?_ “But I kinda like the music, if you know what I mean.”

Spike stared. He stared long and hard, eyes focused on Xander’s as if he was trying to get him to break in two. Then, after an endless moment of indiscernible contemplation that never left his eyes, he pushed the shirt off Harris’ arms and let it fall to the floor, hands resting on his wrists as though he was checking his pulse. “M’afraid I don’t.”

A slightly dopey grin lit his face as he let his eyes fall to the contact. _Old habits die hard, Vamp._ “S’an expression.” He turned his hands over, letting Spike’s fingers slide over his palms and lace through his. “Well, a song.” Eyes darting up to check Spike’s face, he tried on a smile and found it fit. “Means I’ve never done it, but I know enough to know it’s—” He breathed in, and finished the sentence on a soft exhale. “—it’s everything. Everything I’ve ever wanted. Everything I _could_ want.” _And so impossible that I’m still wondering if I’m dreaming._

Something flashed in Spike’s eyes, too deep to be amber, too hot to be blue. And for a minute Xander straightened, unsure of himself but sure of this. Sure that this is what he needs to go on living. Because to have this chance and let it slip away would probably stop his heart.

“Yer man.” The vampire growled the word, low and throaty, somehow ten times sexier than those two words had any right to be. “Whoever, whatever he is. He’s really done a number on you, hasn’t he?”

The look in those fucking unbelievable blue eyes made his mouth go dry, and he pressed his lips together, meeting that gaze head-on. “I want him so much it hurts.” He whispered faintly, losing his grip a little as he realized he’d spoken the God’s honest truth. “So bad I can’t sleep. So bad I can’t even think. When he’s near me, he’s all there is.”

Again, those eyes flashed with something he couldn’t place, something that he probably never should’ve seen. And he felt heat drenching his bones from the inside out, dripping into his muscles and veins until he was shaking with it, breaths slightly shallow, eyes slightly unfocused. But Spike held him there, held his gaze and wouldn’t let it leave, like some kind of hypnotist, making a career out of mesmerizing him. In his mind, Xander prayed to God that those words hadn’t ruined him.

Then Spike whispered, a soft growl lilting through his voice so low that he could barely hear it. “So kiss me like ye’d kiss him.”

 _Oh My God—_ A soft laugh fell from his lips before he could stop it, and immediately he knew he was screwed. So screwed. If the irony of this wasn’t enough, now he had to be so fucking obvious that Spike would know in less than five seconds. Just that thought was enough to propel him into action, hand sliding up the nape of his neck and into his bleach blonde hair to yank him forward into a kiss that neither of them could’ve possibly prepared themselves for.

_How do you kiss the guy who doesn’t even know how much you want him? A guy who’s giving you three nights to blow his mind before he leaves you to some imaginary lover who you made up to make this less embarrassing? How do you kiss a guy when he doesn’t want you at all?_

Apparently, the answer was: Like Your Life Depends On It.

For a minute he flailed, lost, even as their lips connected and fire shot through his blood so thick he thought his veins might burst. It was a feeling he’d almost expected, but never knew, so how he’d expected it he couldn’t be sure. Spike’s lips parted beneath his, impatient as usual, but coaxing, guiding, testing in turns. It was good—yeah, great—and he thought _Maybe I should just let him lead_ , but then his fingers crunched through all that gel and he realized, _No. This is Spike._ And he swerved their lips into a tight lock that wouldn’t break so easy, tongue driving into his mouth and dragging hot against those dangerous teeth—daring him to take control, daring him to _try_. The sound that emerged from Spike’s throat then was swallowed eagerly, and it tasted like the shivers that were running down his spine, and he just kept the aggression hot, waiting for the vampire to catch up.

And he did. Hands found their way to his shirt, gripping the fabric and yanking him close, and Spike’s tongue rocked wet and clever against his, making lurid motions that felt alarmingly like fucking, and Xander’s knees went boneless. He sucked that tongue, pulling back just a moment to capture it and punish it for its crimes between his lips, his hands wandering to places he never thought he’d see—let alone touch. The globes of that marble-white ass, smooth and tight and skinny like the rest of him… Christ, he’d jerked off dreaming of what that ass would look like out of its jeans. And now he was able to grip it, feel that muscle give beneath his fingers and use the grip to pull him close—

_Oh Christ, he’s so hard—_

It was a shock. A damn near impossible shock, because while he’d known they were supposed to be having sex here, he never thought that… He never even _dreamed_ that Spike would get hard so fast. So _easy_. But there it was, pressing into his thigh, half-hard already judging by the feel, foreskin slowly retracting to reveal a bulbous tip that got bigger every second it crushed against his jeans. _Jesus._ Just the thought of what he was feeling made him groan, magma pooling in his gut as his fly tented and he responded in kind, pressing the zipper into Spike’s bare hip. And apparently he _loved_ that, hissing softly against his lips, his cock jumping unashamed against Xander’s leg. Oh yeah. He mouthed at Spike’s lower lip, unwilling to pull back and let whatever magic this kiss was dissipate yet, and because he couldn’t help himself, he pushed a hand between them and palmed the erection quickly crowning between the vampire’s legs.

With an almost astounded gasp Spike ripped back, lips falling open red and wet, and both their gazes fell to the contact that felt like a miracle. That fucking gorgeous prick, skin translucently pink now, foreskin rolled back, head heavy with its need—Xander could stare at it all night. He licked his lips, tasting Spike’s mouth on his own, and watched as his thick, tanned fingers teased Spike to a hardness that looked too good to be true.

“Fuckin’ _Hell_ , Harris.” Spike hissed, hips jerking erratically, head falling forward to press against Xander’s shoulder. He made a sound, a groan, and it reached from the tips of Xander’s toes to the valves of his heart. It tugged at him, everywhere, and his dick was suddenly hard as a rock because _Jesus Fucking Christ_ , if he could make Spike groan like _that_ , there’s no telling _what_ he could make Spike do. “Fucking _Hell_.” He said again, lips puffing the words against the hollow of his throat, and for a moment Xander wondered why he had no reservations about letting a vampire this close to his neck. That thought flitted away, however. There were more pressing matters at hand.

“Good?” He murmured, not trusting himself to say anything more. His fingers were dry, and he let his eyes dart longingly to the lube on the bed for a second before he squeezed a loose fist around the crown.

“I— _Xander—_ Wait!” The sound of his name made him pause, and he sucked in a quick breath, eyes flying to Spike’s. It was like looking into a storm. “Wait.” The vampire panted harshly, repeating the word once more.

Xander let go, watching mournfully as the shaft bobbed up against Spike’s stomach. “Yeah?” He asked, swallowing hard. Something was charging Spike’s gaze, far hotter than the sheer arousal bleeding into that blue, and it was making him shake.

And when Spike spoke, he heard a hum of something in his voice that was primal, like a starving animal. “Some… Some demons won’t like it if ye get aggressive like that, so. Tell me who he is. And I’ll show ye what he’ll like.”

_Are you serious?_

He laughed out loud, lips pressing against Spike’s throat as he leaned into his shoulder and let his hands wind around his hips, pulling him flush against his body. And from the hot little shudder he could feel jolting up Spike’s spine, he was certainly loving the contact. “Show me what _you_ like, okay? Let me grasp the basics.” He murmured, hands tracing the path that shiver had taken, making the vampire stiffen in his arms and arch back into his touch. “Worry about the rest of this later.”

“ _Harris_ , I’m _tryin’_ to get this started right, an’ I can’t do it if I can’t _know_ —” Whatever Spike needed to know was cut short when Xander impulsively sunk his teeth into his skin, tasting his nerves as they melted against his tongue. With a bliss-heavy groan, the vampire let his head fall back and dug his fingers into his hips, like he was losing his mind or something. Christ. It’s about damn time Spike lost his mind to Xander. He’s been waiting for him to catch up for months.

With a shamelessly heady groan, Xander dragged his tongue up to one milk-white earlobe, teeth nipping at it in a relentless bid for Spike’s self-control. “Do _you_ like aggressive?” He heard himself growl, one hand flattening itself against that taut, pale stomach as if to say _Because I can do aggressive._

Beneath his touch Spike’s whole body went tight, and he seemed to give, following the light press of those fingers until the back of his knees hit Xander’s bed (unmade, because he definitely wasn’t expecting company this evening, and after Spike sent him home to wait, he felt like if he put the effort into making it, Spike wouldn’t show up). When they did he sat down, legs spreading in his usual bad-boy slouch, hands falling to his thighs to frame his erection in the most tantalizing way. Then he purred, a smirk fighting its way through the naked flash in his eyes—the one he still couldn’t decipher. “Not always. But I like the way you’re wearin’ it, Pet.”

 _Pet…_ The word shimmered through his blood like hot whiskey, and he swallowed it with dark eyes, pulling his undershirt over his head and tossing it somewhere over his shoulder. Spike didn’t seem to notice the way the word affected him, however. He was too busy eyeing Xander’s pecs, and that was just fine by him. He let his arms fall to his sides, presenting himself to the one he wanted most, waiting for a reaction beyond those hot blue eyes that had widened a little the second he’d taken off the top.

Finally his voice came, rough and challenging. “Right. Well. Impressive. For a human.”

Then Xander smirked, a wicked smirk he’d picked up from way too many Spike fantasies to count, and dropped his jeans.

Spike’s mouth dropped open. And he stared. He stared for a very, very long time.

So long, in fact, that Xander felt the need to kick his jeans aside and step between his legs, still showing off a little as he touched his chin with the tip of his finger and closed his mouth for him.

“I get that a lot.”

“Bleedin’ _Hell_ , Harris, does it demolish Tokyo in its spare time?”

“That one’s new.” He heard himself laugh, hands settling on those bare white shoulders and pushing gently, urging Spike onto his back. But the vampire grabbed his wrist and yanked him down with him, and they rolled together, a confusing jumble of limbs, until Xander wound up on his side, his hands pushing into Spike’s hair, begging for another kiss.

But he never got it. He thought he might for a moment, the way Spike stared at his lips like he wanted to suck his soul out through them. But the vampire just leaned over him for a moment, studying his face, then pulled back to grab the tube of KY that had misplaced itself in the tumbling. He unscrewed the cap and yanked off the safety seal. “Gonna have t’stretch yerself, mate. Don’t fancy losin’ what I got to the bloody chip.”

“I—” _Oh Fuck…_ His boldness flagged as the realization hit, and his body shuddered at the notion. He’d never… Hell, he’d _wanted_ to, but he’d never…

Something in Spike’s eyes went wild and blue like lightning, and he leaned close to Xander, whispering in a low, easy purr. “Have you ever touched yourself back there before?”

The way he said it… Oh, fuck, it made his blood turn to heavy melted chocolate, and his gut drop to the floor. “No.” He murmured, closing his eyes and breathing out a slow, shuddering sigh. “No, I haven’t.”

He opened his eyes again, and found Spike staring at him with a look of such hunger that it terrified him almost as much as it aroused him. “God, Xander.”

“I’ve—I’ve never—”

“Hands and knees.”

The command took him by surprise, it was so sharp. And hoarse. Like his voice was about to crack. Pressing his lips together, avoiding those wild blue eyes, he rolled over onto his stomach and hefted himself to his hands and knees, ass in the air, whole body shuddering with trepidation even as his cock wept with arousal. For a moment, there was complete stillness. That moment was the longest moment of Xander’s life.

Then he felt a hand trace down his spine, slow and easy, and Spike’s cool body leaning over him to whisper in his ear. “I’m going to spread your arse. I want you to lube two fingers for me, alright? Liberally. When ye think it’s too much, add a little more.”

Trembling, he took the tube from Spike’s fingers and upended a large dollop of lube into his right palm. Behind him Spike was rubbing slow circles over the small of his back, gradually going lower until he reached the globes of his ass, kneading them slowly, methodically. Xander had to bite his lip to keep back a groan. Then he felt himself split. Heard an exhale, a sigh that sounded like liquid longing. _Then—_

Oh, _Holy Fuck—_

 A slick, cool organ touched his hole, laving over it slow and easy, peeking inside and making him gasp, groan, shudder like he’d lost control of his nerves. It squirmed against him, and he gripped his pillow, lubed hand smearing itself all over his sheets. “Jesus _Fuck_ , Spike!” He cried out, head falling forward as just the thought—Just the _thought_ —

He’d never wanted eyes in the back of his head so much in all his life.

“Just startin’ ye up.” The smirk was in his voice, and it was all Xander could do not to come right then. That tongue— _fuck_ —it rolled slowly over the pucker of his hole, and he groaned, face planting itself into his pillow until it went away, and Thank God, because if it didn’t he was going to lose it before he ever felt that cock inside him. Thank _God_.

He reached back, his lubed fingers slightly less lubed now, and traced the trail that Spike’s tongue had drawn—all around his hole and over its gape, pressing slowly inside. Spike’s hands pried his cheeks further apart, kneading them nice and easy, and Xander knew he was watching. And _fuck_ , if that didn’t turn him on like nothing else. He pressed in, one finger down to the knuckle, and the feeling was a little strange, but he breathed through it, and after a moment, pushed his entire finger inside. There was a burn—but it wasn’t unpleasant, and he let out a tiny whine at the feeling.

Behind him somewhere Spike groaned, heat blustering through his voice like he’d been trying to hold it all in. And then he felt that _tongue_ again, winding around his thrusting finger, tracing the opening he’d widened for himself and prodding it, loosening it. “The other one.” The whisper was hoarse, choked, and it made Xander lose the last of his caution because _clearly_ Spike wanted to be inside him, and as far as Xander was concerned, Spike would get whatever the hell he wanted.

His second finger stung, pushing in and pulling out, for the first few thrusts. But then he found himself an angle that allowed him to breathe, and he gasped for air as he rocked his fingers in and out of himself, slowly spreading them apart and stretching that hole gingerly, terrified that the pain would grow from the little wince it was now to a serious problem for the chip. It faded soon enough, and he pushed deeper, raising his ass a little higher so that he could—

He heard the rip of the condom wrapper somewhere in the distance and paused. _Oh God._ The rubbery sound of latex rolling down over skin. _OhGodOhGodOh—_

“Now grab the headboard and hold on tight.”

Gasping for air, Xander pulled his fingers free and did as he was told, slapping both hands to his (well, Anya’s [wait, nope, according to the bill it was his]) brass headboard and holding on for dear life. Spike’s cool fingers gripped his hips, angling his ass so that they were perfectly aligned. And when he felt the head of that rubber-tipped cock pressing oh-so-gently against his cleft, he bit his lip and screwed his eyes shut.

And then it pushed.

He felt himself split. Like he’d been impaled. But apparently it was the good kind of impaling, because his body arched into it like it was being electrocuted, and his cock leapt up against his stomach and spat need like he was losing his mind already.

“ _Christ_.” Spike hissed, teeth gritting harshly in a growl. “Harris—I—”

“ _Move_!” He pleaded, practically sobbing with this need, fingers tightening around that brass now slippery with lube.

And he did. He pushed a little more, then a little _more_ , then _all the fucking way_ , and Xander cried out, helpless, his voice strangled by the need that’s, quite simply, all he knows how to feel. He heard Spike behind him, cursing in a language that he didn’t know. And just that was the sexiest sound he’d ever heard, so he pushed back, snapping his hips and rutting his ass against Spike’s pelvis in a beginner’s parody of fucking—

-And _Oh Holy Fucking **Shit**_ —

Whatever the _hell_ just happened, Xander saw colors that didn’t exist in _nature_ , let alone his bedroom, and that was the end of that.

It was the kind of orgasm that felt like his spine had melted and was now spurting in ribbons of white all over his blanket. His mouth fell open in a cry that never came, but that was alright, because Spike was crying out for him a couple of thrusts later, spilling into his condom and shuddering with sheer bliss inside him for a moment, not even bothering to recollect himself into his usual badass nonchalance.

He slumped against Xander’s back. Xander slumped against his headboard.

The silence lasted ten full minutes, during which time Xander decided that yes, he was totally fucking screwed.

Because giving this up in three days was going to _hurt_.

\--

“Give it up.”

“ _Mine._ ” The boy growled petulantly, clutching the carton of chicken lo mein to his chest as if it was the fucking Gem of Amarra. “You are _not_ getting blood anywhere near this carton, Chief. Either finish your blood, or stick to the sweet and sour pork.”

Spike pouted, leaning back against the headboard and crunching into a fried noodle. He’d get his hands on the lo mein eventually, just like the rest of their little bedroom buffet, Xander included. Though, if he was being honest, Xander had become officially more tempting than the luke-warm Chinese food twenty minutes ago.

Bloody Christ. _That_ had been a surprise. He’d been expecting awkward, tongue-in-knots, driveling fool Xander Harris, not Xander Harris the priceless lay, virginal sex deity with a kiss that could put a centuries-old Master Vampire flat on his back. Lovely. The sex had been push and shove and sparks that sizzled until his brain had evaporated and he was left a gasping, swearing mess. By the time he’d come out of his euphoria and had enough sense to tie off the condom and toss it, Xander had fallen into a light doze, mumbling something in his sleep that sounded vaguely like “M’so screwed.”

He’d sat there for five minutes staring at that sleeping form. _Call it off._ He willed it, psychically begging Harris to wake up and come to his senses. _Wake up and call it off. Throw me out. Tell me you’ve just wasted the last half-hour._

_Tell me he doesn’t mean this much to you. Whoever the fuck he is._

But the dark-haired boy had just curled closer, mumbling something unintelligible. Thwarted, he rose from his position (sprawled half-way on top of the poor lad) and wandered into the kitchen where he found the Chinese food and a couple of plastic forks. Xander had rolled over at the smell of food, and now they were curled beneath the sheets, soiled blanket kicked to the floor, surrounded by Chinese food and good music.

It was the closest thing to comfortable Spike had felt in years. Decades, maybe.

“S’there another shrimp roll in there?” He asked, and Xander tossed him the bag the place had stuffed with three egg rolls and three shrimp rolls. They were impossible to tell apart. He pulled one out and bit into it, grinning lazily as he tasted shrimp. “Ta’.”

“God, please don’t dip it in blood. Please don’t—” He watched in delight as Xander gagged when he proceeded to do just that. “Ugh. God, you’re _kidding_ me. So gross, Spike. So beyond gross.”

“Gross enough for ye t’lose yer appetite?”

“Hell no. Gimme.” Stealing the bag of rolls, he took one of the remaining two and set it on his nightstand, apparently intending it for later. Then he grabbed the boneless spare ribs and stabbed into the carton with his fork like he was trying to kill something. “So what’s on the agenda tomorrow.”

A delicious little feeling twisted into Spike’s gut, anticipation at the very thought. “Let’s see… Well. Ye’ll wake up.” _We fuck._ “Ye’ll call outta work.” _We fuck again._ “We’ll go over a couple more things.” _Blowjobs. Difficult, those._ “After the sun sets, we’ll go out. Test ye in a proper setting.”

“Lemme guess: Gay Bar?”

“Got it in one.” He popped the last of his shrimp roll into his mouth and swiped the discarded lo mein from Xander’s side while he was distracted. “Though if I knew who ye’re aimin’ for, I’d be able to—”

“Forget it.”

“ _Why?_ ” He blustered, annoyed with himself for sounding so fucking _pissed_ at that. “I mean, it’d only _help_ —”

“Spike,” He sighed, stabbing his fork into his spare ribs. “This is embarrassing enough as it is. I’m not telling you who I’m doing this for. I’m just not. Now shut up and gimme the sesame chicken.”

Frowning a little, the vampire handed over the chicken and took out his frustration on the lo mein, pouring a little blood into the carton. They ate in silence, listening to some Rod Stewart song finish its final chords. But just as Spike was polishing off the lo mein, another song came on. Slow, drowsy, seductive guitar chords and a voice that was the perfect cross between Good Ol’ Boy and Let’s Make Trouble.

“ _Well, I never been to Spain,_

_But I kinda like the music…”_

He looked to Xander and found him smirking in his direction, a hot little glint in those dark, bottomless eyes. Listening for a moment, he recognized the song as one he’d heard… He couldn’t remember when. Sometime in the last couple decades. Though he’d been blood-stoned through the seventies, so it could’ve been then too.

The boy licked duck sauce from his fingers. Spike stole his hand away and finished the licking, eyeing his lips with intent.

They kissed again—too easily, fuck, so easily it terrified him—and in no time at all they were making out, Xander’s dark waves crushed against his pillow, Spike’s mind vaguely processing the poetry of the song in the air. The not-knowing-but-wanting, the want-that-was-almost-had, and the hads that make all the other wants look like blasphemy.

\--

_Well, I never been to heaven,_

_But I been to Oklahoma._

_Oh, they tell me I was born there,_

_But I really don’t remember._

_In Oklahoma, Not Arizona,_

_What does it matter? What does it matter?_


	2. Let Me Serenade You

Xander Harris was screwed.

Officially. Royally. You might as well get the business cards printed.

_Alexander Harris, Chief CEO of Screwed Incorporated._

How the Hell did he always wind up in such impossible situations? Jesus Christ, it was like fate had gone out of her way to kick him in the balls when Spike caught him reading the _Zevera_. Not that he was complaining. Yet.

Tomorrow, he’d complain.

Today he was stuck whirling through the apparently never-ending rollercoaster of physical highs, logical lows, and emotional loop-dee-loops. Because despite how many times his mind had reminded him that this was a temporary arrangement and that tomorrow was the cut-off, he was still getting laid, and he was getting laid by Spike. The guy he’d pretty much given up and switched teams for. Not that he’d given up on girls, not by any stretch. But he was starting to think that maybe he was never as hetero as he’d always thought. Jesse. Larry. Oxnard… The things that he’d let himself fall into, the unusual attention he’d always paid to particularly edgy guys with sun allergies (and, okay, he hated the fuck out of Deadboy, but he wasn’t blind). It all added up to form a gigantic blinking neon sign that screamed “Pretty Bi For A Human Guy”, and he was beginning to wonder how he’d stayed in denial land for so long.

Probably because of Jesse. Hell, all he could think was if things had been different… Jesse would’ve been the guy he’d go to. With him gone, and Buffy there, the thought of being bendy should’ve been kicked around his subconscious for a while and eventually discarded in favor of self-preservation.

But then, of course, along came Spike.

“Wh’s’wrong?” The vampire asked around a forkful of Szechuan style beef. They’d both gotten hungry after the fourth round of “lessons” (shameless fucking was more like it) and warmed up some of last night’s Chinese. But scarfing down dumplings had given him time to think—and once he started thinking, he lost his appetite completely. He had two more days. Two more days with Spike. And when tomorrow night was over, he’d never have him again. The thought nearly made him nauseous.

Spike was staring at him with a slight frown, the same frown he’d given him last night when he refused to tell him who he was doing this for. And this morning when he’d asked again. And an hour later. And an hour after that. And an hour after that…

“Huh?” He snapped out of it, shifting onto his side to peer up at his supposed “tutor of demonic love”. “Nothing. I’m good. Why?”

“Twelve minutes of lyin’ on yer back, starin’ at the ceiling, not stuffin’ yer face when there’s clear opportunity to do so. Anybody who’s known ye for more’n an hour knows if yer not eatin’, somethin’s on yer mind.”

 _Good point._ He privately conceded, even as he scoffed and sat up to grab what was left of the cashew chicken. “I’m resting. Seriously, vampire acrobatics are not beginner’s level techniques. Give a guy a break.”

“Like ye weren’t just beggin’ for it.”

“Was not.”

“ ‘Oh, _Harder_ , Spike! _Fuckin’ Jesus_ , Spike, _Harder_ , I’ll—’ ”

“Oh, I did _not_ sound like that.” _Okay, I probably did._ Grinning anyway, Xander picked through the remnants of the cashew chicken, searching for cashews.

“Did too.” The vampire replied petulantly, grinning back, nefariously as always. “Would’a promised me yer first-born when—”

“Okay, yeah, but give a guy a little _warning_ next time!” He shook his head, holding back laughter, because this was _so not_ a laughing matter. “I thought my eyes were gonna roll back in my head permanently!”

“Oh, you kept up fine.” Spike waved his fork… reassuringly? Nah. “Got brilliant form for a human. Yer man’s a lucky one. You’ll keep him happy for a good while.”

His grin faded. _Okay, yeah, change of topic._ “Did you pick all the cashews outta the Cashew Chicken?”

“Speakin’ of yer man…” Spike began, both totally ignoring the question and beginning one of his own.

“Because seriously, Spike, that’s a new low for you. I can deal with you bloodying up the lo mein, but this is just evil.”

“You know I’m gonna find out who he is eventually, yeah?”

“Cashews are an integral part of the dish. Hence the name. Now it’s just… Chicken. It’s lost its personality.”

“Bloody _shut up_ about the chicken, would you?” Spike snapped, eyes flashing with something dark and haunting that, yes, made Xander close his mouth (and if it made his dick jump too, well, Spike doesn’t need to know that). “You were thinkin’ of him just now.”

It’s almost an accusation, the way he says it, and for a moment Xander feels guilty. Like he’s done something worth that tone. So he shuts his mouth and sets the cashewless chicken on his nightstand, waiting for Spike to say more—to explain why he sounds so pissed off that Xander’s thinking of some Goddamned nonexistent crush when he’s the one going out of his way to make sure he’s confident enough to land him.

“Ye told me you want him more than anything.” The vampire growled, low and inhuman, and Xander’s eyes flicked to his mouth. It was curled into a snarl that made him shudder. “So why is it every time I catch ye thinkin’ of him, you look like death?”

Eyes falling to the sheets, Xander pressed his lips together and refused to speak. Hell, if Spike didn’t get it by now…

He felt a hand touch the small of his back, heavy and ringed with those funky steel rings Spike always wears. Closing his eyes, he soaked in the feeling, the intimacy of it. God, it felt good. Comfortable and reassuring and so very surprising, all things considered.

Then Spike growled, low and feral and full of promises that did not bode well for Xander’s imaginary man-crush. “Are ye scared of ‘im?”

“What?” He looked up fast, surprised by the question. “No. _God_ , no, Spike—What do you think I am, some kind of masochist?”

“Ye never know.” He continued to growl, fingers sliding down Xander’s spine in a manner he’d almost call protective if he wasn’t absolutely certain that it couldn’t be. “People like things like that sometimes. You certainly seem to like it when I order ye ‘round a bit.”

“Oh.” He murmured, pressing into Spike’s touch as it slid too low to be innocent anymore. “I… No. That’s not…” Sucking in a breath, he licked his lips and tried to focus. But the way those fingers were teasing him just wasn’t fair. “I’m scared about what’s going to happen when this is all over. That I’ll make my move or whatever, and he won’t want me.” _Anymore,_ he just barely keeps himself from adding. “He’d probably laugh in my face if I ever told him what I feel. He…” He swallowed, wishing he had the courage to be completely honest. But he didn’t. So he’d have to settle for any truth he could grab. “He’s out of my league.”

“Hard to imagine, Pet.”

The tone of his voice was soft now, slightly wistful, and he turned to blink at the vampire in barely veiled shock. He was looking right back, not soft or gentle as the tone had implied, but intense. Focused, like he was trying to puzzle something out of him, but it was much more severe than that. More like… Like he wanted to reach inside his eyes and take something he’d seen there before.

Xander went breathless. Literally, stopped breathing for a minute. He wondered if this was one of those moments they’d been having over the last fifteen hours, where Spike would stare at him and kiss him and then they’d have sex without any lessons at all. It’d happened twice now. Xander had written both times off as Spike “getting his own end”. But that didn’t stop him from loving every minute.

“Right.” Spike finally said, voice faint with something that sounded too close to heat to break the mood. What did break the mood was the way he pulled away and jumped out of the bed like it was on fire. “Back in five. Maybe ten. Get dressed while’m gone, we got work to do.”

“Wha-?” Frowning, Xander sat up and grabbed the cartons of food he’d knocked over as he’d fled. “Where’re you going?”

“Smokes.” The vampire replied, buttoning his jeans and scooping his shirt up from the hallway floor. He shoved his feet into his boots, and without another word he was out the door, slamming it shut behind him like he owned the place.

Rolling his eyes at the sheer unpredictability that was Spike, Xander grabbed the food and dumped it all in the trash. Then he remembered what Spike had said last night and closed his eyes in preemptive humiliation as he tried to figure out what the fuck he was going to wear to a gay bar.

\--

The second he slammed the door to Xander’s place, Spike lit a cigarette and sagged against it, pushing the tension from his body in one slow exhale.

Alright. Obviously he needed a break. All this… this sex. It was getting under his skin. That had to be it; he’d get some air and take care of some business, and by the time he got back he’d be nice and detached, able to enjoy this properly. Not that he wasn’t enjoying this. If anything, he was enjoying this _too_ much.

Harris was turning out to be more than just a pretty face and a big dick. He was quick when it came to the mechanics, picked the moves right up. He had strength and stamina that most humans could never hope to possess—hell, keeping up with a vampire in bed is no easy task. And best of all, he…

He was eager.

_“God, fuck, Spike—More! More, Please, I’m so—”_

Shamelessly eager.

Exhaling another breath, he pushed off the door and headed down the steps, pretty memories fighting for spots among the more pressing matters in Spike’s brain. He forced them back. This was his fucking break, and he needed time away from the sensory overload that was Chinese food in bed with a naked Harris. And everything that came with it.

 _Right. Focus._ Flicking ash on the lobby floor, he breezed out of the complex and into the warm California night. Willy’s was about eight blocks away. He could get there and back fast if he fucking _focused_ and quit thinking about all the fun things waiting for him back in that apartment. Obviously the cig wasn’t doing its Goddamn job—he could still taste the skin he’d been tasting all morning. Tossing it away, he moved with preternatural speed and made his way to the bar fast.

He had to find out who the fuck he was setting Xander up to reel in.

For all their sakes, really.

What if this was some nasty motherfucker wearing a glamour, sending out pheromones in hopes of attracting the Slayer’s Boy? Hell, he could see it. Bag Harris, gain his undying devotion, use him to get to Buffy. Perfect plan, really. Should’ve thought of it himself back in the day (would’ve made for some fun nights, and probably a very fangy Scooby). But, respect for that plan aside, he wanted to find whatever it was and rip its throat out.

Just for the look he put on Xander’s face.

 _“He’s out of my league.”_ He’d said.

Like he didn’t know what a fucking spectacular brand of lay he was.

Like he didn’t have a physique worth a good long stare.

Like no one had ever stared at him before.

What a crime that was. If anyone deserved a little tenderness, a little love, it was Harris. The last soddin’ good man on this planet, who’d bent over backwards for his mates again and again—even for _him_ , and Lord knows Harris didn’t owe him any favors. And here he was, head over heels in love with someone who probably only saw him as a means to an end…

 _“I want him so much it hurts…”_ , He’d said.

Just thinking of that set Spike’s fangs on edge.

He just needed to find out who it was. Find him, tell him to back the fuck off, possibly kill him if need be. Then everyone would be safe, and he could go back to…

To what?

He paused mid-step, hands falling limp to his sides as he thought of it. Go back to shooting pool with him? Drinking with him? Watching old movies and Star Trek reruns with him after patrol?

Crashing on his couch?

How the hell is he going to crash on his couch now, knowing how warm he is when he sleeps? Remembering that, for a night, he’d placed his mouth in the hollow of Spike’s jaw and breathed maddening little snores against his skin until Spike finally gave up on sleep and roused him for another round?

How could he possibly sleep on that couch with him in that bed a hallway away, taunting him?

_Things have changed. Obviously._

He’d think about that later.

Smacking through the door to Willy’s, he strode straight up to the bar, grabbed Willy, and dragged him into the back before he could even say a word.

\--

“Jesus Christ, it’s like I just wandered into Elton John’s bordello.”

“Says th’boy in gay training camp.”

“Hey, I may be a rookie at this, but _this_ place? Mega-Gay.” Pushing up the sleeves of his (kinda fashionable, barely stained, only missing one button) button-down, Xander shot a look to Spike that all but screamed _Guide Me, Sensei._ “Ultra-Gay. Can I say Über-Gay? I think I might. Yeah, I’m gonna say Über-Gay, with a side of Fagtastic.”

“That word would get yer arse beat if ye wasn’t with me.” The bleach-blonde growled, giving him a terse look back. He’d been a mood ever since he’d gone out for “smokes” (ch’yeah, okay, because it takes a half an hour to walk to the gas station a block away), and all signs were reading _Do Not Poke The Vampire_. But Xander usually ignored those signs when it came to Spike anyway.

“Spike. There’re _chandeliers_. With _tassels._ ” He reached up, flicking one with the tips of his fingers because it was too easy to make fun of. “ _Rainbow Tassels_.”

Wrinkling his nose in distaste, the vampire nodded a little in agreement. “Tacky.”

“Or is it fag _tas_ tic?” Looking over his shoulder for cameras and other patrons, Xander gave in to temptation and reached up, snapping a tassel loose. They were small, cheaply done things. It was clear that more than a few had been stolen before. He considered a badge of honor, earned just by entering this vaguely-Euro-centric homage to Liberace. “Glitter, glitter, everywhere, and not a speck on me. Does that make me less of a fairy, Spike? Should I be standing by the window, waiting for Peter Pan to show up?”

That made the vampire crack a smile. A small one, but still. Progress. “Bloody—” He broke off, shaking his head, probably at the ridiculousness of it all. “Jus’ sit down and shut up. I’ll ye a beer.”

Dropping onto one of the hard and absurdly shaped barstools dotting the top floor of the club, Xander slapped a hand to Spike’s wrist, catching it before he could leave him. “But Spike! I do believe in fairies! I do, I do!”

Behind him, somebody shouted “Amen, Brother!” and he heard peals of laughter that made him grin at Spike so wide the bleached wonder _had_ to grin back, because it was impossible not to.

And grin he did, offering Xander a look that said _If I wasn’t reined in by this chip, I’d be headsmacking you right now._ “Pillock.” He said instead, turning on his heel and heading for the bar.

Grinning at his back, Xander gave up all pretense of not staring and, well, stared. Fuck, that ass. In those tight, tight jeans. _Damn._

Yeah. Giving that up tomorrow was going to _suck_.

The thought made his grin fall away, and he knew right then that if he didn’t start thinking happy thoughts he’d start freaking out—wondering what the hell he was even _doing_ here—so he turned his head to the group of boys who’d laughed at his earlier comment and found them all glancing his way, grinning at each other, muttering not-so-discreetly.

He swiveled around, leaning his elbow on the high-top and his chin on his fist. “He’s so mean to me. I love it, though. Gotta love a Brit with an attitude problem.”

The guys laughed, and one of them—a stocky brunette with a nose ring—mimicked Xander’s position and rested his chin on his fist. “I like ‘em tall, dark and handsome, myself. If you ever want somebody to be nice…”

Well. Wasn’t that flattering? Raising an eyebrow at the brunette, he found himself grinning at the crew easily. “Smooth. I’m gonna have to write that one down.” He looked to the others, dropping his hand to the high-top. “So, you guys come here often? Because the sheer gayness of the tasseled chandeliers has got me humming showtunes.”

The brunette looked to his friends, then back to Xander, a look of clear distaste on his face. “They’re so tacky, aren’t they?”

With that, he pulled the stolen tassel from his pocket and twirled it around his finger. “I like ‘em. _Great_ party favors.”

They all guffawed, raising their drinks in salute, and Xander mimed raising his own. “I’d totally be toasting myself with you, but I have no drink.”

“Well, we’ll just have to fix that, won’t we?” The brunette winked, sliding off his stool and moving toward his table. “What’re we drinking tonight, hmm?”

“Would a good-ol’-fashioned Corona-lime combo make me less of a man?”

The brunette opened his mouth to reply but shut it in the next second, and Xander knew why. He felt Spike coming before he saw him, so it wasn’t really a surprise, though it did give him a little thrill knowing he was glaring off the brunette with one of his patented _I can kill you with my pinkie_ glares.

“Miss me?” He drawled, accent low and seductive against his ear. One hand dropped a Corona with lime on the high-top. The other wrapped low and protective around his shoulders, pulling him back against that well-toned chest and staking his claim very, very clearly.

Christ. He knew it was all for show, but fuck if it didn’t feel _good_.

“Always do.” He grinned, craning his neck back to look up at the bleach-blonde vamp, only to find him a breath away and still moving. And within seconds they connected, lips meshing together slow and languid like they’d been doing it for years—centuries, even—so easy that it shouldn’t’ve been this good. But it was. It was bone-melting, blood-shaking, I-can’t-believe-I’m-half-of-this-feeling good. Just like it was every single time.

Shit, how many times had they kissed now?

When Spike pulled back his eyes went directly to the brunette, flashing that iridescent amber that usually signaled bad times ahead for the glare-ee. “Fuck off, Gretrijh. S’mine.”

Stunned, he turned to look at the brunette and found his eyes flashing yellow as well. He hissed, glaring back like he thought he could take Spike if he really felt like it. “Then don’t leave him alone.”

“I’ll leave ‘im as I please. Don’t change a thing, yeah?” He looked down at Xander, offering him a conspiratorial smirk as his fingers slid low, plucking the cotton of his muscle-shirt. “He knows who he belongs to.”

 _Oh yeah. I definitely do._ He smirked back, settling himself against Spike’s chest and watching with delight as the… well, whatever they were, wandered off like kicked puppies. But the delight was short-lived. Spike let go the second they were gone, and Xander nearly fell off the stool.

With an amused grin, the vampire ran his chipped black nails through Xander’s hair, tousling it. “Christ, Harris. Switch teams, and still get nothin’ but demon play.”

“You took me to a _demon_ bar?” He asked, not really surprised but carrying off a good imitation. “A demon _gay_ bar? What’re you trying to do, get me killed?”

“S’not a _demon_ bar, per se.” The vampire shrugged, sidling up on his own stool and swallowing a mouthful of beer. Xander’s stomach sunk. Why did he get the feeling he was trying to wash his taste out of his mouth? “S’just friendly. Anybody can get in.”

“Oh, right.” He rolled his eyes at himself. “So I just attract the glowy-eyed ones. Story of my life.”

“Better’n attractin’ nothin’ at all.” Flashing him a rakish smile, the vampire set his beer on the high-top and glanced down at the dance-floor below. They were essentially on the top floor, which was actually a cat-walk that wrapped around the entire room. But it was where the bar was, so a good portion of the patrons were up there. The rest were in the pit below the catwalk, dancing to ear-splitting techno in a wild mess of limbs and skin. And glitter. Lots of glitter. “Which is why we’re here. Gotta test ye out, see if ye’ve got moves.”

“ _Moves?_ ” Jaw dropping open, Xander leaned over the high-top and stole Spike’s beer out of spite. “I’ll have you know I’ve got plenty of moves, Pal.”

“Right. Because standin’ still as they launch themselves at ye, that’s a move.” Rolling his eyes, Spike tapped his fingers on the rail and peered over it, checking out the crowd. “Take a look around. Tell me who strikes yer fancy.”

 _My fancy’s been struck for the last six months, Bleach-Brain._ He wanted to say. Instead he joined Spike in peering over the ledge at the dancing crowd. There was a very Riley-esque All-American-type gyrating his ass back against a hulking black man with very little shame. A few feet away a shirtless man with a better chest than Xander could ever hope to have was wrapped around a couple of cackling twinks in raver gear. Against the far wall, a real badass-looking dude with dyed-black hair and tattoos crawling up both arms was smoking a cigarette, watching the proceedings.

He took a risk. “Ink-Prince over there. He human?”

Spike’s scarred eyebrow shot up to his hairline. “Him? Really?”

“Is he?” He asked again, trying to ignore the smirk on Spike’s face. It was impossible. That smirk would make his blood run hot until the day he died.

Still smirking, the bastard lifted his beer to his lips and swallowed a mouthful. “Tha’s fer me to know, and you to find out.”

Groaning out loud, Xander leaned on the high top and snuck another glance at the dude. Alright, so he had a thing for the badass type, that much was clear to him now. It didn’t hurt that the guy was pretty pale, and he had that sort of vampish look to him. Hell, at least he brought a stake. If he turned out to be fangy he’d count it toward his slayage total and move on, though he was actually not too sure he was a vamp. He was wearing a wristband with a cross on it. That was the kind of jewelry vamps tended to avoid.

“Okay. Alright, Spike. If that’s how you wanna play it, let’s play.” He pushed off the stool, moving around the table to stand in front of the vampire, arms crossed over his chest, all business. Even as his mind wondered, _If I screw this up, will he give me another day of lessons?_ “Goal?”

Spike peered out over the ledge again. “Ye got… Let’s say, fifteen minutes. Get ‘im out the door with ye, an’ ye pass.”

“Fifteen minutes?” He raised an eyebrow, taken aback. It was almost like he was being set up for failure. “Are you serious?”

“’Course!” The vampire looked a little offended. “What? Don’t think ye can do it?”

Annoyed with that tone, kind of humiliated with himself for thinking that maybe Spike _didn’t_ want him seducing anyone else (yeah, right, like he’d care), Xander straightened up and dropped a hand to Spike’s beer, stealing it from his grasp. “Oh, I can do it. I can definitely do it.”

“Fine. Good. Go do it then.”

“Fine.” He affirmed, turning on his heel and heading for the stairs.

He took a long gulp of Spike’s beer. It tasted like his kiss.

 _Fine. Fucking Fagtastic._ He swung down the iron-grate staircase, trying to ignore the feeling of those wild blue eyes on his back as he prepared himself for what would be his first cigarette since the tender age of fourteen, when his mother caught Uncle Rory teaching him how to blow smoke rings.

\--

It took Spike a good five minutes to realize Xander had stolen his beer.

During those five minutes he watched the boy ease his way through the dance floor, making a bee-line for the Sid Vicious wannabe, and pressed his fist to his lips to wipe the last of that taste away. Christ. He’d already grown addicted to that mouth. By tomorrow he’d need some form of rehab.

That is, unless he could convince Harris that he needed more training. Another day or two. Just to make sure he was ready to land the demon of his dreams, or whatever. Cover all the bases. Dot the I’s, cross the T’s.

And in the meantime, he could find out who the fuck this demon was.

Willy had provided exactly zero information on Xander’s secret love, which was as surprising as it was frustrating. He claimed that the whelp mostly came in with him, and the few times he _did_ come alone (oh, they were going to have a chat about _that_ when all this was over, too) he’d just made conversation with the creatures sitting nearby, nursed a couple of beers and left. Like he was just passing time.

So he was back to square one, watching Harris’ every move, analyzing every word out of his mouth and every muscle of his face during those long silences, looking for hints. Praying for clues. Because if he didn’t figure it out before the kid decided he didn’t need his help anymore, they could all be in trouble.

Fuck. Here he was, teaching Harris how to walk right into some big nasty’s waiting arms, and what’s worse—

_\--Bloody Buggering Hell—_

What’s _worse_ , he was starting to get... attached.

Well, he could only blame himself. But how was he to know he’d be so turned around in a night and a half? It was _Harris_ , for crying out loud! Useless, bumbling do-gooder with no discernable talents, save the quick mouth and enough balls to give ‘Gelus the big fuck-you. Never in his whole unlife did he _ever_ think he’d be attracted to him. Even when his brand of wit cut sharp and bitter, surprising every listening ear. Even when patrol put muscle on his bones and construction work gave him a tan. Even when he proved, again and again, that a mortal man with good intentions and bloody fuck-all else could go up against the heavyweight champions of evil and still come out alive. Even then he was still just _Harris_. And Spike didn’t give a damn about him, not really.

They’d lived together. Even _then_ Spike had let their pseudo-friendship remain shallow, truly unwilling to care about things that could be fleeting. The easy banter they’d developed grew on him, and he let it stick through his address-change, snarking with him during patrol and whenever he felt like crashing on his couch. The demon bint left, and he took him to Willy’s to keep him from wallowing in self-pity over a stupid cow no one ever liked. Even _then_ he didn’t really care about him. He just wanted him to get over this so he could get back to being his semi-witty self.

Finding out Harris had it up for blokes? Interesting, but not earth-shattering. Even as he was posing the idea of educating him in the fine art of male-on-male seduction, he was honestly just looking for something wicked to do. The idea appealed, on a slightly perverse level. He expected a moment of indecision that would lead to balking at the thought of being topped—complete with embarrassing Xan-babble that he could hang over the poor lovestruck lad’s head at the next opportunity. He never expected—never _once_ thought—that Xander could be… what he’d turned out to be.

But now—with the most horrifying clarity he’d ever felt—Spike was beginning to realize that somewhere between the kiss that sealed the deal and the post-sex Chinese food, he’d screwed himself quite royally.

He’d started to give a shit.

Not just about the situation, the mystery-love that Harris was so desperate for, though that was still very much at the forefront of every thought in his head. That should’ve been bad enough. No. No, he had to start giving a shit about Harris _himself_. Harris the toy became Harris the lover, and Harris the lover became Harris the friend. And that’s where he was stuck—somewhere between lover and friend, swinging back and forth as each kiss he stole blurred the lines a little more. So why the fuck couldn’t he stop stealing kisses?

He’d kissed him so many times today. So many times, when he’d only really needed to kiss him once to know he wasn’t the _best_ kisser on the planet, but certainly passable. Except, for some reason, Spike couldn’t stop. The taste of him wouldn’t leave his tongue, and his lips practically buzzed for whole minutes after, and he’d tell himself _That’s The Last One_ until he found himself too close again, staring at that mouth and sinking into it far too easily…

This was getting out of hand.

Xander finally made it across the dance floor, beer in hand, and that’s when he looked down and realized his own hand was grasping air. “Pillock.” He muttered to himself, grabbing Xander’s Corona and taking a swig of that instead as he pushed off his stool and headed quickly down the stairs to listen in. The music was making it damn near impossible, so he stuck to the shadows and moved to the closest corner.

The target was watching Harris’ approach, vaguely interested, and Spike rolled his eyes at the caricature he made. Your classic badass wannabe. Annoying to say the least, considering half the reason he’d dreamed up this challenge was so he’d get to gauge his type. And if _this_ was Xander’s ‘type’, he might as well lock the boy in a fucking tower to save him from himself. Christ, he knew how to pick ‘em, didn’t he?

“Can I bum one?” Xander asked his target, propping his shoulders up against the wall next to him.

The target raised a pierced eyebrow, giving him a look that bespoke interest if nothing else. Now, Spike knew this look. He’d practically invented it. And he knew what would come next. The kid would either tell him to fuck off, or hand him a cigarette. Either way, this left the ball in his court, and left Xander hanging for an answer—not the best start.

But Xander hadn’t finished.

The kid moved to take his cigarettes from his pocket, but before he could reach them, Xander raised a hand and plucked the currently burning cig from his mouth.

He took a long drag, eyes falling closed in bliss at the nicotine fix, and for a moment Spike’s mouth went dry.

_Ballsy._

“Thanks.” He sighed after a moment, eyes opening a little and shifting to the target.

He now had his undivided attention.

“Here. Sorry.” Smiling a little, he offered him his cig back. “When you need it, you need it.”

The kid looked him up and down, assessing his fuckability in the second it took him to flick the ash from his cig. “True dat.” He replied, taking a drag and letting it out through his nose. “Danny.”

“Alex.” Xander replied, in a voice that was so smooth, so sexy, it almost sounded like another person. Actually, it almost sounded like Angel, and didn’t _that_ just make Spike’s hair stand on end? “You bored, Danny?”

The kid smirked a little, turning to his side and checking Xander out once more, head to toe. Spike gritted his teeth. Did no one show restraint anymore? He was outright _eye-fucking_ him, _right here_. “Yeah.”

“Wanna find something to do?” ‘Alex’ asked, resting a light, barely there touch to his bicep. The universal body language of ‘Let’s Get Out Of Here’.

And Spike’s fingers balled into fists, because from the look in Danny’s eyes, there was only one possible response to a come-on like that.

“Yeah.” He said again, one hand reaching down to wrap his fingers around Xander’s wrist, the other hand raising his cig to his mouth again as he pulled ‘Alex’ along, heading for the door.

_You must be joking._

Eyes blowing wide, he watched in disbelief as Harris was pulled toward the exit, a grin of victory all over his face.

_He fucking did it. With eight minutes to spare._

Spike’s stomach sunk. Well, that cinched that. He didn’t need any lessons in picking someone up. And he didn’t need much more in the bedroom either. Hell, he was starting to wonder why the kid thought he needed lessons in the first place. At any rate, he obviously wouldn’t be needing an extra day of them.

And that was _fine_. Great, even. All the better to stay detached.

Things could finally go back to the way they were.

The image of that bed, littered with Chinese take-out cartons and Xander sprawled among them, hair rumpled and mouth still red from kissing, came back to him in that second like the memory of a dream. He was on his side, lips spread in that wide grin of his, laughing at Spike’s modest air guitar in homage to the Def Leppard pouring out of his radio. God, he’d looked so good right then. So good and so right and so easy to touch. He’d reached out and pulled him in by the chin, whispering against his mouth that he was already hot-sticky-sweet, that he didn’t need a song to tell him so. And in that moment they kissed like lovers for no reason whatsoever.

He’d used that one to teach him how to ride a man. He _had_ to. He couldn’t just kiss him without a lesson, could he? That would make this… something _else_ to think about.

No. They’d end it tomorrow night. Xander would be off to catch his demon, and Spike would be back to crashing on his couch. A whole hallway away from that bed.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by a finger tugging at his beltloop. Whipping around, he saw it was the very object of his thoughts, sending him a pleading look as he was pulled through the crowd. Immediately he snapped into action, grabbing his hand and pulling him back. “Alex, love!” He cried out, just loud enough for half the bar to hear him. “You promised me a dance!”

“Oh! Yeah! Um,” He looked to his “ink-prince” with a surprised, almost embarrassed smile (like he hadn’t just orchestrated this little rescue himself). “Another time?”

Danny blinked, then smiled back. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here every Saturday.”

“Next Saturday, then.” Xander confirmed, pulling his hand from the man’s grasp and taking Spike’s in a warm, loose grip.

Spike played his part, dragging the boy out onto the dance floor and letting him press against his back as the crowd moved to accommodate them. For the hell of it, he placed the hand he was holding on his hip and drew Xander’s other arm around his body, enveloping himself in his scent. Sweat, sawdust, and something that set his fangs on edge—that was Xander. He reveled in it, breathing in like he needed the air, and when he felt the boy’s hands splay wide on his hips he pressed back against him until there was nothing but the beat between them. It was like the room revolved around them—the crowd pressed in, forcing them tighter against each other, and the music kept time to the way their bodies swayed together, and the lights went low the moment Xander’s lips touched his neck. Hot human breath huffed soft and fast against his skin. A heartbeat slammed one-two, one-two against his spine. For a second and a half, he closed his eyes and pretended this was real.

Then he opened them again and realized it was.

“Eight minutes to spare.” Xander sighed against his neck, sounding _very_ pleased with himself. “Told you I could do it.”

“That was ballsy, Harris.” He hissed, letting his head fall back a little so that Xander could hear him above the music.

“But it worked!” He laughed, hands trailing down his thighs in a remarkably effective tease that had Spike’s mind unfocused in seconds. _Christ._ “I actually managed to pull it off without looking totally lame!”

Spike smirked a little, trying not to hear that Xangelus voice in his head, the way it said _Alex_ like it was Danny’s rare and priceless privilege to hear it. Fuck, just _thinking_ of it gave him a shiver. “Not totally, no.” He murmured, rocking his hips back a little harder than just-friendly, which brought him flush against that cock he’d been in awe of since Xander first dropped those ridiculous boxers for him. The scent of arousal flooded his senses immediately, and _fuck_ , he wanted to _taste_ it. He wanted to taste every single inch, map out the body behind him with his tongue, suck that fat cock between his lips and see how much cum he could milk from it. But the thought only made him angry, because he knew he never would. He’d never get the chance to fuck him for the sake of fucking him, for the sake of the way he smelled when he got hot and bothered, for the sake of the way he kissed, like every kiss might be the last one he’ll ever have. Because he was _in love with another demon_ , and didn’t _that_ just make him want to bash some skulls in?

He wanted a cigarette.

Then he thought about how Xander looked with smoke trickling from his lips, and he realized the cigarette would be a very poor substitute.

“So, I passed.” The boy grinned against his ear, hands skimming slowly back up his thighs, up his hips, and finally pushing beneath his shirt. “Do I get a gold star?”

“No.” Spike rasped, already halfway there with the scent in the air, the warm body wrapped around him, the thought of the things they’d been doing _all morning long_ and the thought of the things he’d _never_ get to do. He’d take horny as hell over misery any day, but apparently he was doomed to be saddled with both. Giving up the last of his sanity, he resigned himself to the madness that the last forty-eight hours had wrought, reaching back to slide his black nails into Xander’s dark tresses and press his mouth into his skin. The hot, ragged breaths dripping over his neck were melting him, and at this rate he’d be on his knees _begging_ before they left this bar. Hell on Earth, he was _already_ about to do something stupid—he didn’t need to _beg_ for it. “But you do get a reward.”

“Oh really?” Harris asked, pressing his lips to the vampire’s throat so that each syllable buzzed through his nerves wild and electric. “Like what?”

Closing his eyes, Spike let his body go still and tried to clear his head.

 _You do this,_ He told himself, warned himself, pleaded with himself, _and you’ll never be able to sleep on that couch again._

But it was the only chance he’d get. So if he wanted it, this was the time to take it.

“Like, I think it’s time ye learned t’ pitch, Harris.” He murmured low and hungry into the air, rocking back until he felt the unmistakable, un _believ_ able bulge of the boy’s cock exactly where he wanted it. Because he _did_ want it. Fucking _Hell_ Yes.

It took him a moment to understand, but when he did it was worth the wait. His cock jolted, and Spike rode into it like they were already fucking, and the sound that wrenched itself from the boy’s throat was a thing of beauty.

“ _Jesus_ , Spike-!” He gasped, just barely getting the words out as another strangled groan broke through, and Spike _had_ to turn around and take his lips before just his noises alone brought him off in his jeans. And just like _every fucking time_ , he lost his head in the kiss. Tongue dragging wickedly along Xander’s, coaxing it out to play, tasting his beer and a cheap brand of cigarette he’d never smoke.

_That’s the Last One. Swear on my bloody unlife, that’s the Last…_

At this point, Spike gave up, because he knew it wouldn’t be. He was doomed to watch his heart go down in flames yet again. He might as well make sweet music as it burned.

Pulling back slowly, he slid his hands into Xander’s hair and tousled it between his fingers, loving its thickness, the way it smelled, the way it fell into those big brown eyes. “Let’s get ye home. Wash this glitter outta yer hair. Order Chinese.”

“I’m down for that.” Harris croaked, still kind of dazed.

 _Fuck…_ Spike’s mind sighed as he took in the naked lust on his face and found his own cock swelling.

He was so, so screwed.


	3. Shambala

He hadn’t expected Spike to join him in the shower.

Hadn’t expected the tenderness in his touch as he ran his black nails through his thick, dark waves, rinsing glitter out of his hair for him.

Hadn’t expected him to hold him against the tiled wall and kiss him without a word, without a sound, just a slow burn in his eyes that maybe he should’ve tried to decipher. But the kiss was too good, and he was too shocked, to do anything but let him take what he wanted. Whatever that was—his soul, maybe. Hell, he’d gladly give that up right now—maybe then he wouldn’t feel like such a fucking loser-idiot-liar-boy, maybe then he could just take what he’d always wanted without those pesky feelings getting in the way. Because there were _definitely_ feelings. Deep, gushy, stubbornly affectionate feelings.

And they were getting in the way.

Being with Spike… Well, he didn’t know what he’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t this. Not this moment, pure affection, like he had some kind of selective memory of the last two days—all of the sex, none of the reasons for it. Like he suddenly gave a shit about more than getting his own end.

Then he dropped to his knees and murmured “Pretend.” And wrapped his lips around the tip of his cock.

Xander felt his jaw unhinge and let his eyes flutter closed, and his mind laughed deliriously, so loud in his ears that he thought maybe he was going insane. _Pretend What?_ His head bloomed sarcasm. _Pretend I’m with you?_

_Maybe I am pretending. Maybe the last two days have been the end of my sanity._

Maybe. But if going insane felt this real, he was going to stay insane. He fucking deserved to lose his mind like this. _Just let me drift away._ Grinning wide, he licked his lips and let his hands slide into Spike’s sopping wet hair, freeing it from its usual gelled place and mussing it. He wanted to see it that way.

Spike’s lips suckled lightly at the head of his cock, slowly and deliberately teasing the very tip with his tongue. It was maddening, yes, but worse still was the way those hands had his hips pinned to the tiled wall, holding him there, keeping him from moving at all. Then he screwed his mouth down his shaft, taking his thick cock halfway down his throat, and Xander forgot that the first two minutes of this blow-job were pure torture. A rough sound wrenched its way from his throat, and he dug his fingers into that bleach-blonde hair even harder. Apparently, Spike didn’t mind that. He moaned low and hungry, shooting sweet vibrations straight up Xander’s spine—

“ _Fuck-!_ ” He heard himself moan in appreciation, rapture maybe, and his hands fell to the vampire’s face. His scarred eyebrow, his near-angular hollowed cheeks. It was him. This was real. “Fuck.” He said it again for good measure and bit down on his lower lip, refusing to allow himself one more stupid word.

Because the next stupid word might be _Spike_ , and how would he explain _that_?

_Yeah, you told me to “Pretend”, so I was pretending that you were the one blowing me. I like to think I have a very active imagination._

Teeth sinking hard into his lower lip, he let his head roll back against the tile and dragged his fingers back up into that now semi-gelled hair, and proceeded to work the gel out with his nails, for no reason other than the fact that he wasn’t ready to let go yet. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked down, and Spike—

\--Spike was looking back at him.

His lips dropped open again, like he had words to say. But his tongue felt limp and flat, and the eyes that held his now were… They were nothing like any pair of blue eyes he’d seen before. They were haunting, haunted, and for the first time he thought maybe the humanity Spike had before the fangs never really left. Part of him, the part that loved and obsessed and feared being alone in this world above all else, was a remnant of the man he used to be.

For a moment he just held onto that gaze, willing the spark of what was there to rise into some recognizable flame. But Spike’s lips fell from his cock, and he gripped Xander’s hips, using them to leverage himself up. And the kiss that followed was nothing but the beast, the demon reaching for his—yeah, probably his soul—clawing his defenses away until he almost _did_ yell _Spike_. He would’ve. If his lips weren’t occupied.

The water was cold, but that couldn’t be right, because by the time he stumbled out of that shower he was feverish. They didn’t bother drying off, didn’t bother even separating long enough to talk about what Xander was supposed to do, what he was supposed to be learning. Every movement was ghosted by a kiss, and every kiss was a question, and every question seemed too easy in this moment—so if this was a final exam, he was pretty sure he was passing with flying colors. Or Spike had simply written the answers on the board.

Creaking loud beneath them, the mattress gave way to its usual long-worn groove, and they wound up molded together on their sides, squished into the dip in the middle because that’s where the bed had rolled them. Spike’s hands dug harshly into his hair, mouth meshing against his in wet, forceful maneuvers that should be illegal—or at least licensed or something. After a moment, one pale leg rocked over his waist, bending around him so that the back of his calf pressed against the cleft of his ass. The tenderness there forced him to rip back, a ruined groan on his lips, his fingers digging harshly into Spike’s ribs, dragging him even closer.

He had the boldness, the audacity perhaps, to open his eyes.

Spike’s were wide on his face. Wide, and stuck on that haunting shade of blue that made no sense but still made Xander stop breathing.

The little tube of KY they’d been using was almost gone. Kind of fitting, in a way. It was somewhere on the nightstand on Spike’s side, so he kissed him again, rolling them to put the vampire on his back, one hand reaching blindly for the tube. When his fingers found it he made a triumphant little noise that would probably be embarrassing if it wasn’t warranted, and lubed his fingers up fast. Spike hiked his leg up higher, arching his ass up into the air, and he took the invitation. The stretching was rough, blind, nothing like the way his tutor had taught him, and he spent every moment staring down at that face and waiting for him to say “Stop”. But the “Stop” never came.

His cock was still wet, still hard as a rock—harder now. He lubed it up, and just touching it felt so painfully good that he moaned out loud, looking down in amazement to find it engorged and angry red.

Spike’s hand reached up and touched his chin. He dragged his gaze up to him and found his eyes iced over, arousal shaking through them, an uncatchable light glinting off well-guarded blue.

“ _Pretend_.” He said again, pulling his other leg to cinch around Xander’s waist, raising his ass and waiting. Waiting for Xander to agree.

But Xander looked into his eyes and shook his head, just slightly, just a jerk to the left and a jerk back. And the ice in those eyes threaded with sunlight, sweet honey sunlight, so unbelievable that he couldn’t look away.

He grasped himself, lined himself up, and sunk inside.

The tight, slick hole he pressed into felt nothing like a woman. _Nothing_. His hands slammed into the mattress, leveraging him on either side of Spike, and the vampire angled himself a little higher, and soon he was all the way in. For about three seconds he forgot how to breathe, forgot which way was up, just stared into Spike’s eyes and tried to puzzle out the mysteries there. But the stillness became torturous, and the vampire began to grind himself up on him, and his first thrust was an accident, truly. He’d been scared he was about to come. But it felt so good, dragging himself out, that he had to push back in almost immediately. And he did it again. And again. Until he built up a slow, steady rhythm that made his breath come short and his nerves seize with pleasure every thrust.

He held on to Spike’s eyes, and they just grew wider and wider with each passing stroke. The glint in them was erupting, burning bright white with lust, need. And just when he thought that need had taken all control, the vamp closed those eyes and slid a black-nailed scratch up the back of his neck, ending just before his scalp. That hand pushed his face down into the crook of Spike’s neck, as if there was something on his face he didn’t want Xander to see.

The sex was completely silent, even at the moment of completion. Neither one of them cried out—neither one of them had the breath or the voice or the wherewithal. In fact, by the end, the loudest thing in the room was the bed creaking one last time as Xander lost the wits he’d been trying to hold onto. Among other things.

\--

After fifteen minutes of heavy breathing, the silence was starting to get on Spike’s nerves.

Sex that good was never supposed to be that quiet. Fuck, sex that good should be loud enough to wake the neighbors. But… But Xander had met his eyes. He’d molded himself to his body, he’d pushed inside him, he’d found him right on target, and he met his eyes doing it. Part of him wanted to hold on and let the connection light—let Xander feel what he’d only just begun to feel. But the rest of him was terrified. This was Xander Bloody Harris for fuck’s sake—a mortal, a _child_ in comparison to his own age. Fucking white hat at that. And if that wasn’t enough, kid was steadfastly crazy for another bloke. He might as well rip out his heart and let the child tap-dance on it.

Rolling out from under the tangle of limbs they were, Spike pushed off the bed and jammed his finger into the radio’s power button. John Mellencamp implored him, or maybe them both, to hold tight, and he gritted his teeth, fiddling with the channels until he hit upon The Cars. Tapping his fingers to the music for a moment, he finally gave up not looking at Xander and let his eyes slide to that prone form currently twisting out of the sheets, peering up at him blearily.

His lips were swollen. His hair was mussed. He was clearly freshly sexed.

Spike had to physically hold onto the dresser to keep himself from kissing him again.

He turned his back and headed for the kitchen, taking a blood bag from the freezer and some left-over lo mein from the fridge (beef lo mein—unbloodied—for now). He’d just set the mug in the microwave when the phone began to ring. His eyes slid to the clock on the stove—three in the fuckin’ morning. Only one person calls this late.

Grabbing the phone off the hook, he cradled it on his shoulder as he opened the fridge for more Chinese. “Slayer.”

“ _… Spike?_ ” Sounding bewildered, Buffy quickly regrouped and went on the offensive. “ _Why the Hell are you answering Xander’s phone?”_

“Boy’s lettin’ me crash on his couch for a day or two.” He lied smoothly. “Ye woke me up. S’three in the fuckin’ morning. Better have a damn good reason.”

Behind him, Xander wandered into the kitchen in a pair of boxer shorts printed with Loony Toons. He looked to him and rolled his eyes at the sight.

_“Can you just put Xan on the phone?”_

Giving Xander a look, he tossed the phone to him and went to retrieve his mug from the microwave, replacing it with a plate of beef lo mein.

Xander leaned against the counter, watching the plate spin ‘round. “Yeah, Buff? … Um, no, I haven’t heard—Eleven feet tall with fucking _poisonous darts_ for fingernails, are you _kidding_ me?!”

“Bletursh.” Spike muttered, heading for the fridge again. “Prob’ly a female. Though some o’ the males do love a manicure.”

“Um, Spike called it a Blee—A Bla—”

“Ble _tursh_.” He found himself smiling as he kicked Xander’s foot playfully.

Xander grinned back. “Got that?... Yeah, no, he’s just staying for a few days. I dunno, I didn’t ask… Tomorrow night? Um…” His eyes turned to him, assessing him carefully, as if he didn’t know what to do. Spike simply pretended not to notice. “No, I—I can’t. I’m pulling a double-shift at work. Yeah, I know. Sucks, right? Hate to miss all that poison goodness… Oh, yeah. Here.”

Raising an eyebrow, Spike took the proffered receiver from the boy’s hand, blinking down at it like it might electrocute him. “Slayer.”

_“Poisonous dart thingie. Free blood if you come help. Yes or no?”_

He looked to Xander. The choice was obvious.

“Deal.” He hung up, placing the phone back on the wall mount, trying not to look at the boy’s shocked (somewhat hurt?) face.

“So… You’re going on patrol tonight.” Xander stated, turning his back on him to pull the lo mein from the microwave.

“Sure.” He lied, grabbing the last of the egg and shrimp rolls, a full box of dumplings, and half a bag of fried won-tons, tossing them all on a plate and shoving them into the microwave, nonchalant. “Free blood. Why not?”

“I just thought…” The kid trailed off, grabbing a fork and stabbing it into the lo mein. “I don’t know. It’s the last day.”

“Far as I’m concerned, ye just graduated.” He stated coolly, sipping his blood. “An’ ye’ve got the night free, since we both know ye called out of work today. Guess that means tonight’s the night t’ land yer man.”

“My…” He stared down at the lo mein, looking shell-shocked.

“You know.” Snide with irritation, the vampire swallowed the entire contents of his mug and tossed it in the sink, almost smirking with the satisfying crack of porcelain. “Th’ bloke ye did all this for. Th’ one ye ‘Want so much it hurts’, n’some shitte.” _I want him so much it hurts._ _So bad I can’t sleep. So bad I can’t even think. When he’s near me, he’s all there is._

Those words still stung. Still chimed through his brain. He dug his fingers into the counter to push the tension from his shoulders.

“So, ye gonna do it or what?” He asked gruffly, pulling the plate of… fried things out of the microwave.

“… I guess.” The boy sighed weakly, looking totally deflated as he twirled noodles around his fork.

“Good.” He said aloud, not really meaning to. One good thing about being evil—breaking deals was never too much of an issue. But now that Xander thought he was going to be slaying while he met up with the fucking undeserving piece of slime he apparently loved, he could… tag along. Quietly. And watch him make his move.

He had to know who it was. He _had_ to.

He had to know whom he’d never stood a chance against, whom he’d lost the boy to before he’d ever caught him with the _Zevera_ made that stupid, ridiculous offer. Fuck, he was in knots, and it hurt more than he would ever allow himself to admit.  

Xander’s fork stopped twirling. “Good?”

“Sure.” He covered, a chill grinding through his voice. “Ye’ve passed, Harris. S’time ye be a man and go get what ye want. What, need me t’ hold yer hand?”

Xander’s jaw set, and he squeezed his eyes shut, tipping his head back to open them again and stare at the ceiling. “No, Spike. I don’t need you.”

Those words… they hollowed him out somehow. Made him feel sick.

“Good.” He heard himself say again, forced out through gritted teeth. _Good. Fine. That’s it, then._

Dropping his fork, Xander pushed out of his seat and left his lo mein on the table, slamming his bedroom door behind him.

Spike looked down at the fried food on his plate and suddenly felt nauseous. Leaving it untouched on the counter, he made his way to the living room where he dropped down on the couch, settling in for a sleepless morning. A half-smoked cigarette from the night before lay in Xander’s handily-provided ashtray, and he stared at it until he drifted off, the smell of salt in the air feeding into dreams of the ocean.

\--

He’d never been to this bar before.

He didn’t think anybody else had, either.

The Empty Glass was a hut-sized dive squeezed between a vacant building and a barber’s, and Xander had found it by chance, searching for a place to go from drunk to wasted. Inside, he found a musty old bar, and a musty old bartender, both of which looked as though they hadn’t been seen by mortal eyes in a century or two. The bartender, Gus, was the only living thing in the place (he was pretty sure the mice starved themselves out a while ago). He almost looked confused when Xander asked for a beer.

But he was getting the hang of it. This would be Xander’s eighth here. Or ninth? He couldn’t remember. He was in a nice, fuzzy place right now, but still depressed, and still lucid enough to remember the cold look in Spike’s eyes when he’d left to go slay earlier. And hell, he’d _never_ forget the words he said last night, the tone of his voice, like he couldn’t give less of a shit if he tried.

_What? Need me t’ hold yer hand?_

Jesus Fucking Christ. What more did he need to get over this? Here he was, completely masochistically in love with _Spike_ \-- obviously the last person on this planet, living or otherwise, who would see him as anything other than “the Zeppo”. And then he’d gone and fucked himself _royally_ by giving into the vampire’s offer, knowing full well that when three nights went by… he’d never have him again.

Three nights. Three nights of complete bliss to solidify this longing in the pit of his stomach and show him what being with the man he loves could really feel like.

Those three nights sure went fast, didn’t they?

Hell, he didn’t even get a parting ‘lesson’. He’d graduated early, as far as he was concerned. They were supposed to be in bed right now, both of them, fresh Chinese food in their laps, the radio playing rock and roll. That was how tonight was _supposed_ to go. Stupid fucking poisonous dart things…

“What’d I tell ye ‘bout liquid courage, Pet?”

A hand fell to his shoulder, snapping him out of his alcohol-laden reverie, and he swung around to cast a bleary-eyed glare at the very object of his thoughts. _What the hell…?_ “Spike.”

“Believe I told you ye didn’t need it.” He answered himself, dropping onto the stool next to Xander and stealing his beer. “Also b’lieve I told ye not to drink ‘nless th’bloke buys ye one.”

Choosing, for once, to remain silent, Xander dropped his head to his arms, resting on the bar in pure shame. Of course. Spike was here to watch the humiliation. He wanted to see his favorite loser get kicked in the balls, yet again. “T’late…”  He grumbled aloud, lips muffled by his shirt sleeve. That ship had sailed. Right around three that morning.

“So. Yer man come here often?” The vampire asked, casting a glance around the bar.

He glared, his eyes darting up from beneath his arms. “Shouldn’t you be slaying?”

“Shouldn’t _you_ be—”

“Screw this.” Cutting him off, Xander dropped a twenty on the bar and swayed off his stool, heading for the door. He would’ve gotten there, too, if he hadn’t been so drunk his legs felt rubbery. Watching the floor carefully, he moved as fast as he could toward the exit and tried not to stumble—but apparently he wasn’t fast enough, since Spike caught up to him pretty quick, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and steadying him.

“What’s _wrong_ with you, Harris?” He sighed just loud enough for him to hear, pulling him roughly into the cold night air. “Thought t’night was yer night.”

“I never have a ‘night’, Spike.” He slurred a little, jostling away from him and heading for a corner to hail a taxi. “People like me don’t have ‘nights’ of our own. ‘Nights’ are meant for people like Buffy. If I can get a nosebleed seat at one of _her_ ‘nights’, I consider myself lucky.”

“Got no idea what yer goin’ on about, mate.”

“You never do.” He waved for a cab, sighing softly as it passed him by. “So what the fuck’r you doing here?”

“Followed ye, didn’t I?”

“ _Why?_ ” He groused, pissed off and ready for a reason to be. “Why the _fuck_ would you follow me?”

Spike stood behind him, hands buried in his duster pockets, eyes burning holes into his back. “Had t’ know ye was gonna be a’wright.”

“Jesus.” Swearing under his breath, he waved his hand again and nearly fell over doing it. “I’m _fine._ ”

“Ye drank alone th’ whole time. Didn’t talk t’a single soul.”

“So?”

“So, I thought ye was goin’ out t’get yer man.”

 _Oh. Oh, **that’s** what this is about. Fucking stupid, oblivious..._ He laughed out loud, looking back to Spike, his eyes glaring into his face, unfocused but challenging. “You wanted to see who it was.”

Shrugging a little, the vampire dropped his hands to his sides and gave him a look that said _So?_

“Unbelievable.” He huffed, yelling “Taxi!” as another passed him by, pissing him off even more. Yeah, that sounds about right. Spike’s insatiable curiosity. Practically legendary by now. He was just trying to find out Xander’s little secret, and once he did, that would be that. “You’re an idiot, you know that, Spike?”

“So who is it?”

“Why do you _care_?”

“’Cause ye can get yerself killed fuckin’ ‘round with the wrong demon, ye nit—”

“Yeah, well. This one can’t kill me. So I’m okay. Fuck off.”

“ _Any_ demon can kill—”

“Not this one.” He waved hard as he saw headlights heading his way, and pumped his fist in triumph as the cab pulled up in front of him. Reaching for the door, he yanked it open and ducked inside. “Thank Fucking _Christ_ —”

Just as he was about to escape, the door was pulled wide open, its bottom corner scraping roughly into the cement sidewalk as Spike stuck his head into the car. “Who is he?”

“Go fuck yourself, Spike—”

“ _Tell_ me. What the fuck kind of demon can’t kill a mortal boy?”

“This kind, you idiot.” He hissed, trying to close the door in his face. But Spike just held on, pulling it back open, game face on as he growled, rage no longer controlled.

“ _What_ is he, then?”

“A vampire.” He heard himself say.

And when Spike let go of the door in shock, he yanked it closed and told the cabby to drive fast. He spent the whole ride home staring at the rearview mirror, wanting to see anything but Spike.

\--

An hour later he was sobering up, bitter coffee doing nothing to wash the taste of those _awful, stupid, damning_ words from his tongue, when he heard a soft knock at his door. And almost immediately he stopped breathing.

It could only be one person. At eleven at night? It had to be.

Heart hammering into his ribcage, he stood slowly from his place at the kitchen table and headed for the door, looking through the peephole.

_Spike…_

Looking worse for the emotional wear—so to speak; skin translucent, hair disheveled, cigarette smoldering dead between his lips. His shoulders were slumped. One hand was shoved into the pocket of his duster.

But when he unlocked the door and pulled it open, bringing himself face to face with the thing that scared him most… The vampire looked up, and his eyes lit with something bright, something like hope.

“Hey.” He breathed, leaning on both hands as they held him up in the doorway.

“Hey.” Spike murmured back, eyes wide and searching on his face—so completely the opposite of the way they were only hours ago. Where they were once so closed… Now they were nothing but open. After a moment, he looked away, holding up a brown paper bag. “Brought Chinese.”

Swallowing hard around the lump in his throat, he nodded at the sight, his heart pounding in his ears at the very thought of what the bag in his hand entailed. Then his eyes shifted from the bag to the vampire holding it, and he met his gaze, only to be wrapped up in the ghosts of emotions that rested there. Emotions neither of them quite knew how to express.

_“First lesson: Seduction begins on sight. You just wasted a minute shuffling around like an idiot. Now start over, and invite me in like you want me.”_

_“Invite you in like—Oh God. How? How the fuck do I even do that?”_

_“Well, you can start by actually wantin’ me.”_

He licked his lips, holding steady to Spike’s gaze, making absolutely certain that, for once, every desire in his heart was written plainly on his face.

“Come in, Spike.”

Within a second he was pressed against the wall, the door slamming shut somewhere beyond him as his bleach-blonde undead tutor kissed the breath from his lungs, black nails dragging through his hair, too-tight jeans pressed up against his sweats like they meant to rub him off right there. Moaning roughly against his lips, he sunk his hands into the back pockets of Spike’s jeans and pressed himself closer, wanting to hold on as tight as he can, wishing he’d never have to spend another second not kissing him.

“Tell me it’s me.” He heard-- felt-- Spike growl low and heavy against his lips, almost pleading. “I need to hear it, Pet.”

“It’s you.” He breathed, pulling away to drag the vampire to the bedroom, leaving the Chinese food to grow cold on the kitchen floor.

\--

“I mean, how obvious did I have to be? Should I have maybe worn a shirt that said ‘I Want Spike’?”

“Would’ve helped.” Spike laughed, reaching around his ‘pupil’ to take the carton of dumplings he was trying very hard to keep to himself. “Bloody ‘Ell, Xan, you ate _all_ of ‘em?”

“Hey, you’re the one who went to the place with the good dumplings. I blame you.”

“This will not go unpunished.”

“I’m shaking.” He deadpanned, then smirked—a smirk Spike was growing increasingly fond of. Every time he saw it, he couldn’t help but wonder what Xander would be like as a vamp. And _that_ thought… Well. _That_ thought made him smirk back.

Grinning wide, the bleach-blonde slid his fingers up the inside of Xander’s thigh, his mind swimming with the image of Xander in game-face, fucking him, _biting_ him…

But the boy caught his wrist before it could move any higher. “C’mon, Spike. I’m only human. I can’t keep up without sustenance.”

“You just had dumplings.” Spike pouted, picking up the cashew chicken and proceeding to fork all the cashews out of it. Again.

“And now I’m having spare ribs.”

“Got blood in ‘em.”

“Oh.” He put down the carton, picking up another and sniffing it. “Garlic shrimp?”

“Good t’ go.” He replied around a mouthful of cashews.

Sticking his fork into the shrimp, he dug through the carton until he apparently found the one he was looking for. “I mean, c’mon. Danny?”

“Who’s’at?” He asked around another mouthful of cashews, this one with chicken. “Oh, right. Bloke at the club. Stupid haircut. What of it?”

“Dude. Bizarro-You, much? I’d say he wanted to _be_ you, if he wasn’t such a _bad_ carbon-copy.”

“’Course he wants t’be me. Look who ye went home with.”

He grinned at him, and Xander grinned back, and if he didn’t know it before, he definitely knew it now: this boy, whom three days ago meant absolutely nothing to him, was now the one thing in his unlife that he never, ever wanted to lose. All this time, wondering who it could be, pushing toward the answer he needed like blood… All this time, it was him.

Funny thing. Three days ago, if Xander had come right out and said “I want you, Spike”, he would’ve laughed in his face.

Now? Those words were exactly what he wanted to hear. On repeat.

“I just can’t even fucking believe that you didn’t know.” He popped a shrimp between his lips, chewing slowly as he leaned back in thought. “I thought for sure you had to know. I mean, it’s ridiculous, how obvious I was.”

“May’ve been blinded a bit.” He hummed, forking a spare rib into his mouth.

“Yeah? By what?”

“Jealousy.” He murmured hotly, licking his lips as he leaned up to whisper in his ear, honesty and desire trembling in his voice. “I was goin’ mad with it, Harris. Practically tore up Willy’s tryin’ t’find out who it was.”

Xander’s eyes, dark as sin and brown sugar, slid to his own as the words sunk in. His breath caught, Spike heard it, and from the fresh scent of need in the air, it clearly would not be long before they were at it again.

Then he smirked, looking somewhat devilish in the shadow of his pillow, and rolled over to face Spike completely. “So you must feel like an idiot, huh?”

Spike laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Says th’ kid who needed a book to seduce a demon.”

“Hey. Worked, didn’t it?”

He didn’t bother to answer, choosing instead to steal the garlic shrimp from his chest and leave a quick, bloody peck on his mouth. Which earned him a laugh, and a “ _Gross_ , Spike!”, and a small tug-o’-war over the carton that ended with another, longer kiss to the background noise of Rod Stewart crooning about Motown records—all things he could get used to. Given enough time.

And this time, they certainly had that.


End file.
